


Changing of the Seasons

by abutterflyobsession



Series: Stories of the Four Kingdoms [1]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: F/M, strange magic au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-03-17 11:02:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 108,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3526796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abutterflyobsession/pseuds/abutterflyobsession
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The goblins of the Autumn kingdom have always been reclusive and territorial but to preserve the peace their alliance with the fairies of Summer must be strengthened. </p><p>For the first time in generations the Autumn King leaves his home and attends the annual Summer Ball . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Kingdoms

 Behind the veil that separates the world of man from the world of magic there are four kingdoms: Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter.

Each kingdom embodies the characteristics of their namesakes, more or less, and rise and fall from prominence in parallel to the shifting of the seasons in the human world. The kingdom of Summer has a cooler time but never snow, and Winter thaws periodically but never grows warm. Spring fades but briefly and is quick to be renewed with the bright freshness of new leaves and flowers. Autumn's dark forests are in a constant cycle of losing and regrowing leaves, and at the height of its power the kingdom is a blaze of orange and red.

The four kingdoms were created when the races of magic retreated behind the veil, away from the rise of mankind, and a balance was struck, a sharing of power, celebrated at solstices and equinoxes. Yet it has been countless generations since the forming of the kingdoms and power has shifted, balance been lost, alliances weakened.

Magic all but lost.

* * *

 Prologue: Kingdoms

 

Technically the Summer Kingdom was on good terms with the Autumn Realm.

In theory they traded and if there were to be a war or conflict of some sort they were allies. This alliance had been forged long ago, at the founding of the kingdoms, and had been dutifully renewed down the generations and to the present day.

So when it came time for political and social functions the Summer Kingdom always sent off the proper invitations to Autumn and Autumn responded with stiff but polite apologies, saying once again that the representatives of Autumn would not be able to attend. And with each prompt refusal the fairies of Summer would have breathed a sigh of relief, but they had long ceased to attach any idea of danger to the invitations. It had been generations since the goblins of Autumn had ventured out of their shaded forest and into the light of other lands.

Princess Marianne of the Summer Kingdom had spent most of her childhood thinking of the Autumn people as somehow only half real. She had never seen one at court and the only reason she knew they existed at all was because of the illustration of the Four Kingdoms in one of her school books. The Autumn's symbol, an orange leaf with red veins on a brown background, decorated the page on which was printed a brief outline of the climate and goods of the kingdom. There was nothing about the people who lived there, what they did with themselves, or even what they might look like.

When the young princess heard someone mention the Winter Kingdom her mind would conjure up images of the feathery-winged inhabitants of winter, the luxurious furs that the queen wore, and the trading of rare winter plants for the Summer's own abundant herbs. If someone mentioned a delegation from Spring was visiting then Marianne would imagine the endless green fields and delicate flowers that grew in their gentle climate. Yet if anyone had mentioned Autumn Marianne would have drawn a near mental blank. The only image she could summon was of the leaf symbol and a scanty few paragraphs of neat black text.

However, the Autumn Kingdom was hardly ever mentioned at all, so the gap in her knowledge was not often brought to her attention. At least, it was not mentioned to the young princesses and prince.

For while the Autumn Kingdom was an ally it was not considered a friend.

The alliance was the lesser of two evils, it being considered better that Autumn be an uneasy ally rather than an outright enemy. For the inhabitants of Autumn, the goblins, were openly feared and reviled by the fairies of Spring and Summer. The goblins were looked upon as barely restrained beasts, fearsome in both nature and countenance, skulking and brooding in the half-light of their kingdom of forests and bogs. Any outsider who dared set foot across the border was met with undisguised hostility and more often than not were immediately chased right back across the border.

The fairies were a race of the light, of open spaces, and great lovers of beauty. They could not help but be uneasy about creatures that freely chose to dwell in damp darkness, bereft of sunlight and beauty, reveling in savage fighting among themselves. However, it was in their nature—evidenced by their twisted, clawed forms, built for battles. Such creatures, with their claws and scaled hides, could hardly be expected to be a civilized race.

The uneasiness between the two kingdoms was only aggravated further due to Autumn's habit of kidnapping important people to use as leverage in negotiations. If ever Autumn wanted something and the other kingdoms were hesitant to give it then people would start disappearing.

In the night a duke might vanish from his bed, or a minster be snatched while enjoying the moonlight in her gardens. No one ever saw anything, but soon afterwards a carefully worded message from the Autumn King would arrive, full of implied threats. If the demands were met then the missing people would reappear, none of the worse for their absence. If the demands were _not_ met . . . Nothing was ever said of that, the opposition left to draw their own conclusions.

The Autumn King never admitted he had any part of the kidnappings, or knowledge of the missing persons' whereabouts, but he managed to make it quite clear that he had and did, and would keep the hostages for as long as necessary until he got his way. Once the blackmailed kingdom gave way then their dukes and ministers were returned, a little frazzled and a bit vague, but unharmed and knowing only that they had been kept somewhere dark and seen no one.

It was of note that there was no instance in all known history of the kingdoms of the goblins ever being so bold as to take royal heirs as leverage. The rest of nobility were fair game, it seemed, but never a prince or princess was taken.

It was uncertain that if this was because there were some lines that even goblins would not cross—a thought considered dubious—or if it were simply because they were unable to extract the heirs from the elaborate protections of the royal palaces.

Beneath the elegant architecture of the royal living quarters were fortress-like qualities, ensuring that Marianne and her siblings were well protected. These aspects were undetectable to young eyes and it was a natural thing to lean out the windows and say goodnight to the guards before closing and bolting the metal shutters. This, as far as the young royals were aware, was simply part of going to bed. The Summer King made sure no word of kidnappings reached his children and forbade their nurses and teachers to tell them any stories of Autumn.

In this way Marianne, heir to the throne of Summer, grew up in ignorance of these dangers from outside her kingdom and thinking of the Autumn people as only half real. The only proofs of their existence being a leaf stamped in a textbook and that when thrones were set out during the Summer Ball for the gathered monarchs there were four—one always empty.

By the time Marianne was eighteen she had finally been educated in the methods of Autumn—a place she had never been—and the general character of their king—a person she had never met. As heir to the throne of Summer she was expected to know these things and dutifully studied, but she could not shake the idea that Autumn was irrelevant to her and her future rule. The last taking of hostages had been several years before and it seemed like nothing more than some story from long ago.

Even when the Autumn King died she still considered it in a detached, speculative way, as one does with an interesting bit of fiction. The death of the Autumn King was not unexpected for he had been ruling many years and had been getting on. There wasn't even any problems with succession since there was a son. The only slightly interesting thing was that the son and heir was only just fifteen years old and that was rather young to be thrust into the role of king. Then again, what were councils and advisors for if not just something like this? And the queen was still around, too, so that would be a help. The usual letters of condolence and congratulations were sent off to the Autumn Kingdom and the usual noises of courtesy were expressed about everyone's hopes of maintaining the usual civil terms between realms.

And that was that.

Diplomatic tasks dutifully seen to, the kingdom could now plunge into the preparations for the annual Summer Ball. It was the most lavish and enjoyed celebration of the year and everyone who was anyone was invited to attend the celebrations at the palace. There were other celebrations throughout the year but these tended to be smaller and more intimate affairs, conducted with the purposes of negotiating, trading, and general politics. The Summer Ball was nearly pure celebration with the only political elements being the joy of showing off to other kingdoms and the cultivation of connections among the young nobility, perhaps casting eyes on a prospective match.

The usual invitation was sent to the new Autumn King and it was returned with the usual response that he was honored to be included but the duties of running a kingdom were demanding, so on and so forth . . . he would not be coming.

A new king, perhaps, but appeared to bide by the same rules as the last.


	2. Chapter 1: Summer Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting to know the Royal Family of Summer

In view of the fact that Marianne was now of age her father took her aside in the weeks before the ball and talked to her of marriage. She had to be married, of course, he said, and it had to be someone suitable, but . . . Her father had paused and looked sheepish before continuing, “It feels so two-faced to express this out loud. I want you to marry someone suitable and I also want you to be happy. On one hand I would never force you to marry someone you had an objection to and on the other hand I would not allow you to marry someone unsuitable, love or not. You are my heir and whoever you chose to rule with you _must_ be suitable. To say that I want you to be happy and then to put conditions on you—I feel such a politically minded cad.”

Marianne smiled at this frankness. She had never been one for boys and romance and she understood the workings of her kingdom too well to imagine she would ever seriously demand to marry, well, say a janitor, simply for the sake of her own selfish happiness. And how happy would she even be in such circumstances? She would not want to give up the throne to live the life of a janitor's wife and the janitor would no doubt be unwilling to shoulder the responsibilities of a prince.

“Don't worry,” She assured her father, “I understand. I'm your heir. I can't go eloping with gardeners and expect the kingdom to just go hang—it's too important to me. I love it. I love our people and I love the idea of being responsible for protecting them.” Her brown eyes lit up at the thought of all the plans she had for the day when she became queen. The friendships and alliances she would forge among kingdoms and the swift end she would bring to any threat to the current peace.

“You do love being the protector.” The king chuckled, a dozen snatches of memory whirling through his mind. All the stray creatures Marianne had rescued and dragged home throughout the years—though her sisters took over the duty of nursing them back to health. He thought of bullies subdued by quick words, and fists that were just as quick but lashed out only when words failed. Many of those bullies becoming her friends after she taught them a few manners—mainly by sitting on them until they yielded, if he recalled correctly. Fourteen year old Marianne studying the blueprints of the royal quarters, learning about their defenses and pondering how they could be improved. Sixteen year old Marianne finally learning of the political kidnappings and her resolve to protect her siblings herself if it ever came to that. No fear for herself, only for others. Marianne over the years in the courtyard, practicing swordsmanship with the guards. How he watched her progress with pride .Marianne would not be a queen that needed protection from the world.

The other way around, perhaps.

The king took his daughter's hand. “I'm glad you understand. “And I do so hope you find someone suitable in _every_ way Not that there's any rush. You're young and I'm not keen to pass on the throne just yet.”

At the tail end of their conversation Marianne brought up one more thing. “Dad, since we're talking about this . . . well, I wanted to talk to you about Dawn.”

“Why, is there something wrong?” Dawn, sixteen, got into trouble often, but never seriously and nothing that Marianne ever felt she needed to consult their father about.

“No, not at all!” Marianne hastened to say. “It's nothing immediate, but it is on topic. She isn't so . . . pragmatic as me. Ever since we were small she's had all these romantic dreams about her one true love. I think she might make an, um, _unusual_ match someday and I just sort of wanted to, um . . .” She twirled the lock of brown hair that lay over her shoulder, “I just sort of wanted to give you notice. She's not the heir and I think if she was she'd pass it down to our brother. So if she comes to you someday wanting to marry a merchant's son or a the kind-hearted son of a penniless duke—or something—would you be understanding?”

“Does she have her eye on anyone?”

“No, nothing serious. Every week she has a different crush but so far, no.”

The king leaned back in his chair and cast his gaze out the window. “I think . . . I think, Marianne, that you get your happiness from running the world and Dawn gets her happiness from smaller things. I think I can be reasonable. Within reason. No running off with charming blackguards or such.”

“Oh, those kind won't get past me!” Marianne declared with great feeling. “Between the two of us she'll manage to form a respectable connection even if not a brilliant one!”

She had gotten up and come around her father's desk to give him a quick hug goodbye when her eyes fell on a sheet of yellow-orange paper stamped at the head with the symbol of the Autumn Kingdom. “Oh, is it the usual apologies?” Marianne asked, picking up the paper. Her father nodded. She examined the writing and found it to be the same as the other letter she had seen from the Autumn King. The son must still be using the same secretary his father had employed. “Another year, another rejection. They don't even _try_ , do they? Maybe if we sent a delegation sometime they might get the idea that we aren't just given lip-service but actually do want to better relations with them.”

“I sent a delegation, once.” The king looked nostalgic. “When I was young.”

“How'd it go?”

“Our people were chased all the way back across the border and most colorfully threatened. It was made clear to us that Autumn wants to keep within their own borders and keep everybody else _out_.”

“Maybe we should try again. Bigger armed escort this time and put up with no nonsense.”

“You can do it when you're queen, if you like, but I've already alloted enough time during my reign to hammering on the doors of Autumn. They won't let us in. They won't let anyone in. You begin to wonder what they might be hiding.”

  
  


Dawn was waiting in the gardens for Marianne to return from talking with their father. More and more often lately the Summer Heir had been called away to discuss some matter of state with the king and the sisters seemed in a constant cycle of parting and meeting with little time spent together. But now with the party approaching the princesses had an ironclad reason to spend buckets of time together: dresses. All three princess were getting new dresses and that meant choosing fabrics, fittings, matching shoes to fabrics, and more fittings. Dawn reveled in these activities and Marianne put up with them for the sake of being able to spend hours at a time with her sisters.

Dawn was picking flowers and making crowns while her thirteen year old brother Lysander sketched pictures of plants and the youngest princess, ten year old Iona, chased crickets. By the time Marianne touched down on the golden lawn and folded back her wings she found all three of her siblings adorned with flower crowns. Lysander had not protested the red circlet set on his head but only pushed it back so it didn't tickle his ears. Iona was holding on to hers with one hand while she sprinted across the lawn to her sister, wings flapping behind her in a frenzy of pink.

“Hey, you!” Marianne scooped Iona up and settle the girl in her arms with the required, “Oof! Aren't you getting big? Soon you'll pick _me_ up!”

“Dawn can't pick me up anymore.” Iona said smugly.

“So I've heard. Many times. For almost a week.”

“All done?” Dawn asked, “Have you solved the latest international crisis?”

“I think we got a lid on it, yeah.” Marianne meekly submitted to being crowned with white flowers. “Ready to go? We don't want to keep the tailors waiting. It's a busy time.”

“All ready!” Iona threw her hands in the air, almost knocking off Marianne's crown. Lysander closed his sketchbook and got to his feet, following the philosophical frame of mind that the sooner they got started with trying on the clothes the sooner it would be over. Anyway, he wanted to show Marianne his drawings.

Trailing behind them was a page who was also adorned with a wreath of flowers. Marianne smiled and greeted him, “Hello, Sunny, I see we're all royalty today.” She doffed her crown to him and the small young man laughed and did likewise.

Marianne liked to dress well for formal events, but it was just that she didn't seem to have much sense of what was fashionable. Colors, fabrics, patterns, it was foreign to her and she couldn't seem to learn the language. Luckily Dawn was more than glad to take on the slack and the younger princess made sure the heir was always adorned in stunning style. Marianne would never have told Dawn, but she felt out of place in the flowers and pastels, overshadowed by the shine of her own clothes. The effect of Dawn's carefully fashionable choices on Marianne was such that at formal events people always saw Marianne's be-ribboned hair and deliberately stylish outfit first and the princess second. No one seemed to be conscious of the effect and she always received generous compliments throughout the party or dinner she was attending.

Anyway, Marianne thought, flipping through Lysander's sketchbook while Dawn compared fabrics, as long as she was presentable it didn't matter. Looking well was just a preliminary step toward more important things because no one would take a queen seriously who wore stripes and polka-dots together and swept back her hair with a bit of string. The thought appealed to her and she imagined the sensation if she showed up to the dancing in such attire. She didn't care deeply about what she wore, but other people did and the Summer Heir had to think of such things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mainly just exploring the dynamics of the Royal Family. I’m not sure why, but I felt like giving Marianne more siblings, though I have yet to account for her mother’s whereabouts. Here at the beginning I want to get across how open and easy the family is with each other, in contrast to what will happen later on.


	3. Chapter 2: The Summer Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two Important Things Happen

Two important things happened at the Summer Ball.

The first—and what she considered most important at the time—was that Marianne met Roland. Roland was the son of a Summer Duke and a perfect match in every discernible way. Rich, titled, a splendid reputation, up and coming member of the Summer Guard, and incredibly handsome. His smile was dazzling and his hair was carefully arranged to look like his blond curls had been ruffled by the wind. He had intercepted Marianne for the first dance and thereby rescuing her from a rather boring minister. Marianne had been wanting to wrangle with that minister over the policies on grain storage but she appreciated Roland's thoughtfulness and enjoyed dancing with him. Soon the two of them were deep in discussion over political matters and military defense strategies. She talked of diplomacy among the kingdoms and Roland brought up the importance of offensive preparations in case of unrest and then complimented her dress.

Iona had been put to bed with the setting of the sun but for the first time Dawn was allowed to stay after dinner and attend the dancing. Several times Marianne saw her sister swoop by in the arms of one handsome man or another and never the same one twice. Lysander had been given permission to stay for some of the dancing but he had disappeared immediately after dinner and did not reappear in the ballroom. Marianne supposed he had a book to get back to. She didn't pay much attention because Roland had grabbed her hand and pulled her into the next dance.

  
  


The second thing of importance was completely unexpected and much more sensational.

For the first time the Autumn King came to the Summer Ball.

  
  


There was a platform at the far end of the room, raised about five steps off the floor, and four thrones were placed on it. One throne for each of the four realms' monarchs. Three were nearly always occupied by Spring, Summer, and Winter unless some urgent matter caused them to be unavoidably detained. The Autumn throne was present as a mere formality and perhaps because it was needed for aesthetic balance. No one had sat it in for decades. Well, except for the servants who cleaned them before the ball and sometimes sat in the thrones for a lark and often remarked that they needed a cushion or two. But the fact was that the Autumn King simply never went anywhere or was even seen by anyone except for ambassadors. None of the other three kingdoms' kings and queens ever traveled to the Autumn Kingdom and any acquaintance between them and the Autumn King was strictly by letter.

No one had seen the Autumn King in generations, save the few unfortunate diplomats sent to treat with the Autumn Court over one matter or another. What he looked like was a topic of speculation that was revived at regular intervals and chewed over thoroughly. No two accounts agreed except to say he was terribly ugly, wholly monstrous, with features more like an insect than anything else.

  
  


There was warning of the Autumn King's arrival, but only a few minutes in advance of his arrival. Marianne, dancing with Roland, noticed nothing until she glanced at her father and saw that he looked completely baffled and somewhat worried. The entrance was opened and the warm summer air blew through the room, bringing in the smell of warm fields mixed with the damp smell of wet leaves. The weeks had been dry and the scent was unexpected. A twist of anxiety shot through Marianne as she counted up the things wrong: her father's worry, an unexpected scent, the doors opening after all the guest had arrived, the way there were suddenly twice as many guards in view. Her right hand was threaded through Roland's arm but she tightened her hand into a fist as if the flexing of muscles would cause her sword to materialize in her grip.

In the few breaths of silence after the door opened she could feel her heartbeat in her fingertips. The music had not stopped but all she could hear was the silence beyond the open gates, all she could see was the darknesses outside, and all she could think of was that she had no idea what was coming and that was the most frightening thing she'd ever encountered.

Rainbows burst through the door in a buzzing glitter and the assembly gave an “oooh” of involuntary wonder before resuming their tense silence. Rainbows resolved into magnificent dragonflies, iridescent wings whirring under the chandeliers, throwing off endless sparks of color over the ballroom. Sound returned for Marianne, fear vanished and she heard the buzzing of insects and her eyes widened at the sparkling creatures and their alien beauty. In her life she had only ever glimpsed these creatures from afar when traveling the the borders of Autumn and now she was near enough to reach out and touch them. She stepped forward to see better and found herself pulled up short by Roland's grip on her wrist. If she had turned to look at him—and she did not—she would have seen his wide-eyed alarm at the sight of the creatures she was raptly admiring.

The dazzle of the dragonflies still sparkling in her eyes Marianne now saw dark, hunched shapes trundle into the ballroom with uneven tread. Squat creatures with powerful limbs and fanged teeth lumbered in, strangely earthbound to her eyes after watching the flitting of dragonflies and yet not nearly as frightening as they ought to have been. The music continued, no doubt because the musicians were behind a screen and could not see what was going on. The music swooped into a lively song that ought to have had couples swinging around at dizzying speeds. Nothing moved except the creatures filing in through the open door like costumed revelers at a carnival.

Yes, Marianne thought, it felt exactly like a mad, wild carnival where fear is hand-in-hand with hilarity because anything might happen, and monstrous faces and forms are greeted as friends with cheers and laughter. Marianne certainly wanted to laugh or shout or dance among the dragonflies but the silence of the crowd pressed down on her, keeping her silent and the pressure of Roland's hand on her wrist kept her still.

Two lizards ridden by armored goblins led the way and veered to either side, making the guests draw back in alarm and clearing a path down the middle of the room. When the lizards had split away they revealed a solitary figure standing in the gloom just outside the door. It seemed to hesitate to leave the shadows and set foot in the brilliantly lit ballroom and be at the mercy of the open space created by the panicked compression of the crowd.

Marianne's breath caught and the fear returned. Why wouldn't it reveal itself? What did the darkness hide? But she was not in suspense for long. The figure was holding a staff taller than itself and after a moment brought the staff down upon the carpet and strode forward into the light without further hesitation.

The creature was tall—almost ridiculously so—and its limbs were so thin as to be awkward. It walked hunched, armored shoulders almost level with its head. Black wings with ragged edges were held erect behind it like a snatch of shadow torn from the doorway where it had lingered. It did not wear party clothes, but armor. Jagged edged armor that covered him from neck to toes, only his head uncovered. This person looked more prepared for a fight than for a party. Marianne could seem that the new arrival was glaring under deeply furrowed brows and caught a glimpse of a long-nosed profile before the footman finally found his voice:

“The Autumn King!”

That was the exact moment when the Autumn People became real to Marianne. She realized that the mounted goblins held banners decorated with the symbol of Autumn, red, brown, and orange. The meager paragraphs of text in her schoolbooks, the dry details of their export, lists of dull characteristics of the previous Autumn King were all banished forever and replaced with rainbows glancing off unearthly wings and the rasp of jagged edged armor.

The Autumn King had come to the Summer Ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking over my writing I find I don't give Roland very much to say. He's such a forgone conclusion, isn't he? If this were a comic book I would never show Roland's face until he is caught out. You would see him from a distance, face turned away, blocked by a convenient hanging plant, and so on. Then, when Marianne finds out about his misdeeds you would see his face for the first time because Marianne is really seeing him for the first time too.
> 
> http://abutterflyobsession.tumblr.com/


	4. Chapter 3: Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Princess Practices Diplomacy

 The footman's announcement released the crowd the crowd from their dumb silence and they burst into agitated whispers. No particular words could be discerned but it was obvious to all what they were so intently discussing. The goblin king stalked his way to the thrones, throwing malevolent glances from side to side when the whispering was reaching fevered pitches. His face was pale and greenish, like the underbelly of a lizard or the eerie pale mushrooms that grew in the half-darkness of his forest. A heavier, textured skin armored his head and weighted his brow—something like tree bark, something like the shell of an insect and it ridged his head with crown-like lines.

Many different thoughts whirled through Marianne's head, completely blocking out Roland's witty comment about bugs being attracted to bright lights. This offended him and he sulked about it for an hour afterward but Marianne never noticed. Just then she was thinking how amazing it was to be alive right now. To be there when the Autumn King broke his family's long tradition of isolation and reach out a hand of friendship to Summer! But then she thought, what if he was not here to be peaceful? All the stories about the Autumn people seethed in the back of her mind and her practiced eye saw that the staff would be an effective weapon and that the king was already garbed in armor.

Marianne pulled free from Roland's grasp on her wrist and made her own way to the thrones, having no compunctions about wielding her elbows to break through particularly thick hoards of whisperers. Whatever was going on, she was going to be there. Whether to extend a hand in friendship or deflect the cutting edge of a blade, the Summer Heir would be there. By the time the Autumn King stopped in front of the thrones Marianne was standing arm-in-arm with her father and only slightly breathless. The Summer King spared his daughter a grateful glance for this solidarity before turning his attention to his fellow monarch.

The Autumn King planted his staff on the carpet, a piece of amber glittering from the top, and executed a formal bow, armor rustling. “I greet you, Kings of Summer, Spring, and Queen of Winter, and I apologize for my late arrival.”

The words were half-growled and the Autumn King looked far from apologetic. He looked rather angry, but it was hard to tell if he actually was or if his face just looked like that. No excuse was offered for his lateness or explanation for coming when he had written that he would not be attending. Diplomacy above all things, none of the monarchs questioned him and instead offered the responses required by etiquette with only a little stammering. The Autumn King acknowledged the courtesies and took his place on his throne, dark scowl never wavering.

The Autumn Throne was between Summer and Winter and both his neighbors looked nervous. Marianne stood behind and beside her father's throne so that her father was on her right and the Autumn King on her left. From there she could see one clawed hand gripping the armrest of the throne so tightly she expected to see the stone crack. If he tried anything, Marianne thought darkly, she'd push the throne right on top of him. But underneath this determination to be on guard she was seething with excitement and her eyes darted to the ceiling where the dragonflies perched, wings twitching gently to and fro.

He was extraordinarily tall, Marianne had noticed when he passed her, even hunched over like an old man he was head and shoulders above everyone around him. But he wasn't an old man, was he? He was only fifteen, she remembered. His demeanor, she realized in a flash, was not angry, not hostile. He was nervous! Far more so than even his stunned fellow rulers who at least felt themselves in their proper places here in the bright glitter of the party. Everything about the Autumn King indicated earth, wood, leaves, and all the mysterious things of twilight. Here in the unforgiving shine of endless lanterns over polished floors he was caught in the open and exposed on all sides. No wonder he hunched in on himself, trying to create some small space of safety.

Marianne waited until the dancing had gotten underway again before she approached the Autumn Throne and curtsied with athletic precision, the hem of her dress hissing gently across the floor. Dawn had all the grace in the family, Marianne had instead economical efficiency, never wasting an unnecessary movement. This was advantageous in swordplay but left her somewhat lacking in dancing. Not that it mattered just now, since she did not expect her next partner to be particularly critical of her skills on the dance floor.

“Your majesty,” She said, rising from her bow and extending a hand, “Would you do me the honor of this dance?”

Upon hearing these words the Autumn King's scowl vanished, replaced by frank bafflement. The two other kings shifted uneasily but Marianne's father hid a flicker of the smile that overrode his own uneasiness. His daughter the diplomat, breaking the ice. Everyone assumed the Autumn King would refuse and she could see them brace themselves for a harsh rebuttal of this polite gesture. The scowl did not reappear, however, and the Autumn King stood up—and this took some time as there was so much of him to organize—armor chinking and rasping, feet clicking against the wooden platform, wings twitching behind him. Marianne was careful to keep her own wings still and her hand steady, ignoring the uneasy excitement that had been rushing through her since the footman had announced the late arrival.

The sight of the ungainly figure rising up over the Summer Heir and eclipsing her in its shadow was disconcerting to those watching. Marianne failed to be unnerved because she could see his eyes clearly from this angle and they were a brilliant blue. Every other feature about him was either dull and earthy or spiked and threatening, but his eyes were blue and when the light hit them they stood out in his face like a bit of sky peeking through the forest canopy. They were also brimming full of apprehension and you can't be so very afraid of someone who looks at your hand like it might bite him. Autumn King and Summer Heir locked gazes and Marianne smiled automatically the smile she used when she really didn't feel like smiling at all but had to present a cheerful face.

“I would be honored, Summer Heir.” The king lay one hand against his chest and bowed slightly before reaching out and taking her offered hand. She did not flinch when he reached out but the sight of those large, clawed hands would have given her second thoughts if is she had not seen his eyes. His thumb lay across her palm, exerting hardly any pressure, as if he were afraid to hurt her. Or simply afraid _of_ her. Did he suspect her of mocking him, of trying to trick him in some way? Marianne gripped his hand in her own strong fingers to lead him to the dance floor and found his palms were sweating.

He did not relinquish the staff and she did not draw attention to it, simply wrapping her hand over the hand that held the shaft. The King did not take her by the waist and she was glad of that, but he danced surprisingly well, staff and all, even if stiff and hunched. Marianne herself danced well but lacked the flowing grace of her sister, instead being too tight and controlled. She didn't step on feet, though. Neither did he.

On the dance floor they had plenty of space. All the other couples ensured that, dancing as far away from the Autumn King as possible while still pretending they weren't avoiding him. It was less dazzling here on the floor, away from the lanterns rimming the edge of the dancing space, and more room to breathe. She could see his shoulders relax, just a bit, as she had hoped they might.

“What made you change your mind?”

“What?” The king had been concentrating on dancing and breathing at the same time. When Marianne threw conversation into the mix he looked as if he might stumble over the addition.

“What made you change your mind? You sent word you would not be attending and yet here you are. I wondered what changed.”

“I did not receive the first invitation.” The Autumn King glanced to one side, frowning again, “After the death of my father things became somewhat disarrayed. A secretary did as my father always wished and rejected the invitation without inquiring of _my_ wishes.”

“And your wishes differ from your father's?”

His frown deepened. “He believed diplomacy need not be friendship and I believed that our brittle alliance would be broken in the face of any hardship. I believed that our kingdoms can be just not convenient allies, but friends.”

He was blushing! Marianne saw the flush stain his cheeks and realized the new king had probably endured much ridicule over the idea of relations based on friendship rather than fear. This poor young king had to deal with his father every day, even after the old man's death. His father's laws, his father's advisors, his father had always done this, why was it not good enough for his son? And in the face of all this he had come to the Summer Ball anyway.

She smiled for the first time. A real smile, not her diplomatic facsimile. “That is a commendable notion, your majesty. As my father's heir I have often discussed with him the possibility of strengthening our ties with all the kingdoms, so I agree with you completely. Let me be the first to welcome you as future friend.”

The Autumn King was startled into looking her directly in the eye. His blush had faded and he looked down at her with simple surprise. He had no great expectation of this evening. Simple tolerance for the sake of peace, nothing more.

“I want my kingdom . . . to be safe.” He struggled to articulate a thought.

“I know exactly what you mean.” Marianne said with great feeling. “Welcome to our kingdom, friend and ally.” For a time they danced across the ballroom in silence. Marianne broke it by saying, “This is the most exciting thing to happen at a Summer Ball for generations.”

The Autumn King looked down at the brown eyes that sparkled with suppressed excitement. Following her gaze he looked at the dazzling display of dragonflies, the hulking shapes assembled in the shadowy corners of the room, and finally . . . himself. There was no fear in those eyes, no disgust, only interest. Coming here tonight he had hoped, but not expected, to find someone willing to listen, to take the hand he held out in friendship. Until that moment he had found her words diplomatic but when she said “exciting” something more showed through and he recognized her words to be truly sincere.

His eyes were cast down but he glanced up now at the glittering ballroom, festooned with crystals and flowers, couples whirling across the floor in blazes of bright color—all keeping a careful distance away from the Autumn King and those of his entourage that lingered near the fringes of the room. Dragonflies buzzed somewhere by the ceiling. “I often wondered . . . what it was like here. It is very—bright?” He was uncertain but did not sound entirely displeased.

“'Overwhelming' might be a good word for it. It is our opportunity to show off to all the other kingdoms. I promise you, usually we are not half so dazzling to behold. Tell me, Autumn King, do you have such festivities in your kingdom?”

“Oh, yes.” He snorted, “But I believe you would call them “brawls”. Food, , drink, games, and everyone fighting against each other to be the loudest. And, of course, just plain fighting.”

If the king expected to the Summer princess to be put off by the idea of such rough celebrations he was to be disappointed. “Fighting?” She asked, eyes lighting up with interest, “With weapons or not?”

“Both. Why do you--?”

The music dwindled down to the finish of the song and everyone broke away to prepare for the next dance. Marianne released the Autumn King's hands and stepped back to curtsy. Hands freed he grabbed his staff and held it in front of him, quickly bowing. What a pair, Marianne thought: a princess moving with all the grace of a trained bear and a king too nervous to stand up straight. Roland was motioning for Marianne to come over and she waved at him to hold on a moment.

“Thank you for the pleasure of dancing, sir,” She said, “And I hope we might talk some time of friendship and alliances and how they are not mutually exclusive.” The Autumn King was hunching over on himself again, but he nodded his head and turned away, heading back to the brilliantly lit dais and inescapable stares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He is fifteen years old and terrified. 
> 
> Inside he is thanking his lucky stars that Griselda insisted he learn to dance. He and his mother had a shouting match over it and she won by saying he needs to be prepared for all possibilities. Because he is really serious about being prepared and spent weeks studying the proper greetings and protocol for attending such functions and organizing arguments about why he should go. He was arguing with his advisers about it right up until the moment he left--which is why he made such a late entrance.
> 
> So, here you go, some waffling about Bog's eyes and he danced with Marianne. Isn't this all going well?


	5. Chapter 4: After the Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone muses over the events of the evening and Griselda and Sunny make their appearances.

 “You were so brave!” Dawn gasped to Marianne after the ball, “You danced and talked to him like it was nothing! I almost fainted! Some people did faint! They had to be carried out to have hysterics. The Duke of River Bend had to be sent home to recover!”

A collection of young people were gathered outside to admire the moon and chatter about the happenings of the evening. Other topics were introduced but the subject of the Autumn King loomed large and dominated the conversation in almost every aspect. Roland was there, making remarks about beauties dancing with beasts, flashing his white teeth in his dry amusement. Dawn had been followed by a small entourage of young men hoping to win another smile from the young princess.

“He's the Autumn King,” Marianne replied to her sister's exclamations, “I had to be polite. Besides, I wasn't going to leave that poor boy sitting to be stared at _all_ evening.”

Only most of it, she thought. No one else had asked him to dance and he asked no one, spending the rest of his visit engaged in stilted conversation with nobles who thought it wise to be seen being polite to the ruler of Autumn. From the dance floor, as she and Roland circled, she could see the slumped form on the Autumn throne and out of the corner of her eye it appeared very frightening. A shadowy shape the color of dead leaves, brows low over its eyes, mouth twisted into what could be taken for a snarl.

“He might only be fifteen, but he's still a goblin.” Roland put in, still offended over being neglected, “That's when they come of age and usually they've killed someone as part of the ceremonies. He's nobodies “poor boy”. The Autumn King has never come to the Summer Ball not just because he didn't want to—we didn't want him to either.”

Dawn and some other girls squealed with horror over the idea of such a coming of age ceremony. Marianne shook her head and pulled the flowers out of her hair, letting the faded blossoms fall over the balcony. She could see the dragonflies against the full moon, the Autumn King's entourage only just passing out of sight and into darkness. Right about now the Autumn King was breathing a huge sigh of relief, no doubt. She let a smile stretch her face at the thought of the evening and wondered if it had been as much an adventure for the Autumn King as it had been for her. She returned to the conversation:

“I've heard all about goblin coming of age stories and I haven't ever seen a shred of proof that they're anything but bedtime stories to scare children so I withhold judgment. A monarch cannot draw conclusions from mere rumor or we would always be at war over imagined tragedies and fabricated slights. And if I can't stand up to an ugly face and unpleasant scowl then father better disinherit me now!”

“Well,” Dawn considered, “Even if he was as bad as all that it would be better to be nice to him and not give him an excuse to make trouble. This is why you're so much better at the diplomat stuff than I am, Marianne.”

“You're not so bad.” Marianne kissed her sister on the cheek, “You've just decided you want more dancing than diplomacy out of life.”

“But I still can't believe you danced with him! I'm surprised you didn't snag your dress on all his spikes and edges. Who comes to a party in armor?”

“It's not armor,” Roland put in, “It's his skin.”

“What?” More squealing.

“Yes, the Autumn Royalty all have exoskeletons, didn't you know?”

“But that means--” Dawn turned pink and covered her mouth with her hands, “That means he wasn't wearing anything at all! That's—that's—”

“Oh, Roland, stop scandalizing my sister,” Marianne intervened, tugging rings off her fingers and stuffing them into her pockets. All her dresses had pockets, she insisted on it. “The Autumn King did _not_ attend the ball without clothes on. I danced with him--” Dawn gasped again, “I danced with him and I could tell he was decent. He was wearing a waistcoat and most definitely trousers. However,” She leaned in as if to impart a great and scandalous secret, “He was not wearing shoes.”

Everyone burst into laughter.

“Isn't it amazing?” Marianne couldn't help but gush a little, “The Autumn King was here! This has been a day literally for the history books. And who knows that it might mean? This could be the beginning of a real alliance between our kingdoms.”

“Hm.” Roland shrugged, displeased to see her eyes shone brighter when talking about forging alliances than they did when he complimented her. “The goblin king is young,” He said, contradicting his earlier assertions about the irrelevancy of age, “Probably just wanted to come and sneer at us so we'd remember our place. I mean, did you see the face on him?” Roland twisted his face into a purse-lipped scowl, inciting further merriment from the group. But Marianne was gazing at the dark smudge on the horizon where she had last seen the departing Autumn people, her face vacant and dreamy, thinking of a boy-king with sweaty palms and eyes full of fear and how he had ventured where his father had dared not go.

“I think he's very brave.” She murmured.

No one heard her.

  
  


Roland went to see some friends off, promising to return momentarily. Marianne shooed off Dawn's lingering admirers with pointed remarks about the lateness of the hour and once they were gone she suggested it was about time to turn in.

Dawn fluttered her wings and danced around in a circle. “Oh, I couldn't sleep for ages yet! Tonight just was too exciting. So much happened, not even counting the goblins showing up! I danced with sooo many guys and met so many fun people. Look, look at all these cards!” Dawn did not have pockets in her dresses so she carried a small handbag hanging from a ribbon around her wrist. Right now the bag was full to bursting with stiff cards made from pressed leaves and flower petals, names and titles stamped clearly in gold and black inks.

“Goodness.” Marianne glanced through the offered stack and saw more than a few names of interest. Not just cards from suitors, either. It seemed Dawn had charmed many a middle-aged dowager and crusty duke that evening. She had that way about her, being so purely happy at existing that almost everyone she met could not help but enjoy her company.

“But I didn't have any cards to give in return.” Dawn was crestfallen at this sad confession. “I need to get cards. Do _you_ have cards, Marianne?”

“Yes, but I don't use them much. I'm afraid you and I don't need to remind people who we are. I guess since you're now officially part of court society--” Marianne took her sister by the hands and began to lead her in a waltz, “--we'll need to get you some visiting cards. Bluebells? Violets?”

“Sunflowers!” Dawn ducked under Marianne's arm and spun out and then back again to resume their box step along the edge of the balcony. “Or something yellow! I have to think about it.”

Yellow. Marianne thought of the amber stone glinting at the top of the Autumn King's staff. It must have been amber, though she had never seen any in person before. Only Autumn knew how to mine for it and refine it and they kept their methods secret. They did not sell or trade the amber, keeping it exclusively for royalty, her textbook had said.

Yellow. Marianne thought of Roland's curly head and his sweet but fraudulent flattery about her grace on the dance floor. She's have to let him know she didn't care about dancing so very much and was very much aware of her shortcomings. It was nice of him to be so considerate of her feelings, though.

“May I cut in, your highnesses?” Sunny's tuft of hair sprang up between the dancing princesses and they looked down at the dark freckled face grinning up at them.

“No, we're busy.” Dawn stuck her nose up in the air, suppressing a grin.

“Can't you see how busy we are?” Marianne agreed as they rotated around Sunny with expressions of mock-disdain on their faces. “We are very important, very busy princesses talking over vital policies.”

“Yes, we were just addressing the visiting card shortage.” Dawn said, “Very serious matter, the shortage of visiting cards.”

“Oh, but I can talk about that too!” Sunny said, watching the princesses spinning around him, “I've never had a visiting card in my life and you can't imagine the hole that it leaves in my heart.”

Dawn broke down giggling and released Marianne's hands so she could grab Sunny's and begin spinning him across the paving stones. “I haven't seen you all night. Did you see the goblins?”

“Are you kidding?” Sunny tilted his head back to look up at Dawn, “The whole kitchen staff was crammed in the doorway to watch. We had to chase dragonflies away from the soup!” Sunny had been a page at court for a couple of years now but he also worked any job that came his way and tonight that had included arranging desserts and glasses on trays and helping wash up afterwards. “And we saw you!” He said to Marianne when Dawn twirled him past, “The cook had just shouted at us and we're just starting to get back to work when somebody said the Summer Heir had asked the goblin king to dance!”

“Of all the things to be remembered for.” Marianne laughed, “At my _funeral_ people will just get up and say, she danced with the Autumn King! No mention of my bravery in battle,” She mimed thrusting a sword, “Or single-handedly ending wars with a few well-chosen words. No, I'll be remembered for dancing and my dancing is not remarkable to begin with.”

“Cheer up, Marianne,” Dawn said, “It's only the start of your illustrious career as savior of the world and you've got to start small and build up.”

“Patience is key!” Sunny, dizzy from being twirled one too many times, hopped up on the railing so he and Dawn could begin a sedate waltz at eye-level with each other. “Do you two princesses have time in your busy, important evening to go for a walk? I've been stuck inside all day and I want some fresh air.”

“Um.” Marianne looked off in the direction Roland had departed in.

Dawn giggled. “Let's just us go, Sunny. Marianne's got an important appointment.”

“Would that have anything to do with a blond guard with a dreamy smile?” Sunny wiggled his eyebrows. “That was another popular topic in the kitchen tonight.”

“It has _everything_ to do with a dreamy blond guard.” Dawn's smile only widened when Marianne chased after her, shaking a fist. Dawn fluttered up, grabbed Sunny by the wrists and launched off the balcony, gliding down onto the lawn, giggling all the way. Such maneuvers had been practiced since childhood and this example was perfectly executed, Marianne had to admit.

“Don't be out too long!” She called to her sister.

“Same goes for you!” Dawn shot back.

  
  


Shortly after Marianne and Roland went to enjoy the moonlight and discuss what they would have done if the Autumn King had come with hostile intentions. Roland brought it up and Marianne sunk her teeth into the hypothetical discussion of evacuation and retaliation while they rambled along under the moon. However, in the back of her mind she was thinking about treaties and trade agreements, wondering what the next step toward cementing the friendship of two kingdoms would be.

  
  


Head spinning with the endless potential that the future held—all of it good as far as she could see—Marianne entered her bedroom at a ridiculous hour and flopped face-first onto the bed.

This was not as satisfying as it might have been.

Marianne had anticipated being swallowed up by the comforting softness of her blankets but instead found something hard and rectangular digging into her ribs and a softer mound huddled near her pillow. Spying the edges of orange wings she reached over to twitch the blankets away and reveal her brother. He was curled up, knees under his chin and wings draped over his body, and fast asleep.

“Huh.” Marianne wiggled around and extracted a book from underneath herself and rubbed her abused ribs. It was Lysander's sketchbook. Ah, so he had been waiting up to show her something. She's had to talk to him about that. He lost too much sleep sitting up waiting for her to come back from evening engagements.

The book fell open in Marianne's hands thanks to a pencil acting as a bookmark. Sleepily, Marianne examined the sketches in the dim light cast by a dying lantern. After a few moments she pulled the lantern over and flipped through the recent pages, a wrinkle of concern appearing between her eyes.

“Hey. Hey, Sand? Saaand.” Marianne patted her brother on the shoulder and when that didn't work she tweaked his ear. This proved effective and his eyes shot open. Marianne was still laying on her stomach, lower half of her body hanging off the bed. “Hey, kid. You saw the show, huh?”

She held up the sketchbook. It was full of drawings of goblins. Some she recognized, though they were depicted much more menacing here on paper than she had perceived them in reality. The Autumn King appeared the most often among the pencil sketches and he looked thoroughly ferocious with a shadowed face and blank white eyes.

“Thought you went to bed before all that.” She added.

“I was on the stairs watching the dancers from above. I like looking at them like that. It's beautiful.” He yawned and rubbed his eyes, trying to gather his thoughts.

“I bet it is. All those colors and wings. Someone should paint it.”

“But the . . .” He paused. Like his sisters before him he would know nothing about the tales of cradle-robbing goblins until he was a bit older but he knew there was _something_ odd about the Autumn people. “The goblins came.” He whispered.

“We don't call them goblins.” Marianne corrected, “They're the Autumn People.”

“They didn't look like people.” He muttered.

Marianne silently grumbled about her father's short-sighted methods. Keeping his children ignorant of Autumn only made things worse when they finally found out. And such a spectacular way to find out, at that, have them march right into the palace.

“That's how people look in Autumn. Did they scare you? And before you answer please remember it isn't brave to lie. Especially not to older sisters.”

The thirteen year old prince smiled at that. Marianne never let any of her siblings feel they needed to hide their fears. “Yes.” He admitted frankly, “At first. But not so much later.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Lysander took his book and flipped to the last page. In his meticulous style Lysander had drawn Marianne dancing with the Autumn King. His sister's face was fearless, looking straight up at the towering goblin and her wings were spread out, blocking most of her dance partner from sight. “You weren't worried so I guessed it was safe. But . . .” In the drawing one clawed hand could be seen wrapped around Marianne's wrist in an aggressive gesture.

“No, I wasn't worried." Marianne said quickly, "Do you remember how you went to that party and had to dance with girls?”

“Yeah.”

“And you were so nervous your hands were sweaty and you couldn't talk?”

“Dawn said I looked like a grumpy thundercloud.” Lysander put his face in the blankets at the memory. Muffled, “That was the worst day of my life.”

“Hah.” Marianne ruffled his hair, “You didn't do so bad. Well, guess what? The Autumn King's hands were sweating.”

“What?” Lysander pulled his head up.

“Yeah. He's fifteen, you know, and he was totally scared of dancing with a girl.”

“What? Really?”

“He was all scowly because he was nervous. Really, really nervous. When it comes to impressions of grumpy thunderclouds the Autumn King is a master. I'm sorry, Lysander, but your own efforts in that direction just don't match up.”

This got a laugh out of him. “Why'd he come? If I was king I wouldn't go to dances.”

“You'd outlaw them, I know. He came because he wants our kingdoms to be friends.” She yawned wide enough to display her molars. “Ugh, kid, it's so late that it's early. I'll tell you the whole story in the morning. You good?”

“I'm good.” He began to scoop up his sketchbook and the colored pencils scattered over Marianne's pillow. “Hang on,” She said, finding a blue pencil. She opened it to the dancing sketch and dotted the eyes. “Mmm, that's better. Goodnight, Sand.”

“'Night, Marianne.”

In the morning the young Princess Iona heard the story of the Autumn King's visit and cried for an hour because she missed the whole thing. She hid in the branches of a tree for most of the morning until she was bribed to come down with promises of leftover cake.

 

* * *

 

 

 “I don't know what you hoped to accomplish here,” One of the Autumn King's advisors was saying around the same time that everyone was laughing over shoes, or lack of them. “If you thought they'd fall over themselves to welcome you--”

“Of course I didn't! I'm not a fool.” The king snapped, not very diplomatically by the standards of the Summer Kingdom.

Autumn diplomacy was different, focused more on intimidation and displays of power. The young king had been trained for that sort of thing and the Summer's cheerful party had thrown him off. He'd carefully prepared for the evening, bringing armed guards and a fearsome looking entourage of goblins, expecting to meet with blatant hostility. To be greeted instead with . . . courtesy . . . well, it had been unexpected. It was a relief to snarl at the advisor because he knew where they stood with each other and that was in almost complete disagreement.

“I consider it a victory that they didn't bar the door and send out armed guards to chase us off.” The king grumbled to his advisor.

“Hah! They wouldn't dare! They just stood very still and hoped we'd all go away thinking they weren't worth the effort of hunting. Three mighty kings fidgeting on their thrones over one scrawny goblin boy, what a sight!”

“What did you expect?” He ignored the insult. He was used to them. “We hide away from the rest of the kingdoms and make ourselves shadowy monsters that snatch children from their cradles to use as bargaining chips. No one knows anything about us so they imagine we're capable of anything. Anything and everything horrible.”

“I know, isn't it amazing?” His advisor grinned, showing snaggled green teeth, “That's the power of Autumn: fear. That's the legacy you've inherited and now you've got to keep it up. Visiting Summer, coming out into the open, that could have gone badly. But it turned out alright. They're all still terrified and we've shown we're not afraid to come into their territory.”

“They invited us!”

“Oh, you know that's not true! It's an empty gesture, that invitation. They only send it so as not to give us an excuse to take offense. But, as I said, no harm done and you've definitely made a bold statement for the beginning of your reign.”

“That's not the statement I want to make! I went there to extend a hand in peace, not scare them. They're scared of us already and if Summer ever had an excuse they'd turn on us in a second and no doubt Spring and Winter would back them up. The only thing that keeps anyone from picking a fight in the first place is that we're allied with Summer.”

“So? Let them pick a fight. It's been too long since we've had a proper war.”

The Autumn King gave up arguing. All his father's advisors were the same and he was wondering how on earth he could manage to get rid of them all. They clung to their power like creeping vines and if they thought their new king was going to be difficult they would have little compunction about dealing with him. They wouldn't kill him, of course. That would end the bloodline. But there were other ways of keeping an unruly king in line without resorting to violence. So far they hadn't had to do anything. There were three more years until he came of age and the advisors and the council would devote this time to molding the young king into a more desirable lord. After that if he didn't fall into line he would have to watch his step most carefully.

Somewhere behind him the king could hear two goblins bickering over the proper pronunciation of “hors-d'oeuvre”. Mainly, whether or not you said the H but there appeared to be a subtopic about whether or not it was good manners to eat them by the plateful.

  
  


It was still dark when the Autumn King reached the castle. Griselda found him in the throne room, sitting on the steps beneath the throne, turning the head of his staff this way and that so that the light caught on the amber. He was alone, the rest of the entourage having dispersed to their own homes.

There had been a few that lingered for a few minutes, most of them to put in their two cents about what a waste of time the evening had been and he'd had to shout at them until they went away. All of them, except for two. Two diminutive goblins had approached him and thanked him for letting them come along.

“You were arguing about hors-d'oeuvres.” The king recognized their voices.

“Yes, sire! They had lots at the party.” Said the yellowish goblin with bulging eyes and lopsided teeth.

“Until you came along, anyway.” Muttered the other, a round green goblin, somewhat taller than their companion.

“You had a good time?” The king asked, somewhat incredulous.”

“Yes, sire!” Was the cheerful reply.

The king scratched the back of his neck and asked, “. . . why?”

“Oh, it was very interesting.” Said the yellow one, “I've heard stories about Summer and I've always wanted to see it. So many colors we don't have here.”

“Lots of different food.”

“Nice music.”

“Pretty flowers.”

The two went on in this vein for a bit and the Autumn King listened, surprised and a little pleased. The two were young and obviously had no understanding of politics and the complexities present in what they had viewed as a straightforward adventure.

“What are your names?”

“Stuff.” Said the green one.

“Thang.” Said the yellow one.

“Well . . . thank you for coming. Good night.”

“Good night, sire!” They trotted off and before they were out of sight he could hear them discussing the difference between teal and turquoise.

Former Autumn Queen and current Regent, Griselda was a tiny woman with a big voice and the subtly of a dropped anvil. So when she entered the throne room and saw her son sitting on the steps, gangling legs pulled up so that his knees brushed his long chin, she blared out, “There's my boy, back from his night out! Well, well, how did it go? You're back too late for them to have thrown you out on your ear but your face is as long as the rest of you.”

“No, they let us in.” The king picked at the filigree on the top of his staff, “They let us in and stared at us with mute horror all night.”

“All of them?” Griselda asked, bustling over, her arms full of things. She unrolled a blanket and put it over her son's shoulders and put a hot drink in his hand.

“Well . . .” Sighed the king, submitting to these motherly ministrations because he was simply too tired to argue, “There . . . was . . .”

Griselda's eyes widened. “Oooh, what?”

“No, it's just . . . well, the Summer Heir was . . . polite. Kind, actually. They've got those thrones set up right where everyone can stare and all that light and I think she felt sorry for me. She asked me to dance.” This all came out in a rush and he ducked his head to drink from the steaming cup and avoid his mother's gaze.

This bit of information delighted his mother, “You _danced_? I told you, I told you! Was she pretty? Was she nice?” She poked her son hard in the ribs right when he was taking a sip of the drink to cover his embarrassment. He choked and spilled hot liquid on his knees.

The king blushed and pulled the blanket from around his shoulders to sop up the mess. “It was just one dance and she only did it to be kind.”

“Did you step on her toes?” His mother asked, interested.

“No.”

“Trip on the hem of her dress?”

“No!”

“Stumble over your own feet and push her into the dessert table?”

“Mom, please!” The king sunk down, blanket rumpling around his neck and trailing in his lap, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Drink up,” His mother produced a pot and refilled his cup, “It'll do you good. But aren't you glad I made you learn to dance? And you insisted it wouldn't matter because nobody would dance with you. But she did! The Summer Heir did!” She clapped her hands together, thoroughly pleased with herself and the universe.

The Summer Heir—what was her name, he wondered—had been like the only real person in the entire Summer Kingdom. He had come with a hand of friendship held out and she had been the only one to reach out and accept it. In that bright, white room and whirling crowd of gaudy hued dancers her brown eyes had seemed the only real bit of color. Brown was a good color, of polished wood and animal furs.

“I think,” The king told his mother, “I think she wants friendship, too.”

“If one friend was all you could find then you did a good job picking. She'll be queen someday and no doubt she's got influence enough now. The Summer Heir . . . I've heard about her, a bit. Promising girl, they all say. A good start.”

A good start? The king thought. Well, perhaps. He couldn't expect huge changes just because he went to a party. Yes, one thing at a time.

“How did it go after I left?” He asked. Earlier that evening he had left her tangling with the hoard of council members and advisors who opposed the idea of the Autumn King going to the Summer Ball. It had never been done, they insisted, and for many good reasons they would be happy to elaborate on whether or not he wanted them to.

“How it always goes with that lot of bullfrog-headed sticks-in-the-mud.” Griselda sat by her son on the steps beneath the throne and put her arm around him, patting his shoulder while he drank his tea. “They're certain that doom and destruction will rain down on us if we open the borders. Mostly I just out-bellowed them until you were safely away to the party.” She began to chatter about the things she said and the insults she'd thrown.

The king smiled. His mother's voice and her ability to make herself heard above a crowd was unmatched. Even his father hadn't been able to shout her down when they quarreled. The current Autumn King found his mother's voice grating but appreciated when she turned it on someone else on his behalf.

Griselda cut herself off in the middle of an anecdote about reminding a councilor of the time when they were both children and she had made him eat a mud pie after he called her a screech owl. She looked at her son who was still folded up, trying to squeeze his large frame into the smallest possible space. His sharp edged black wings with their white and gray patterning hung limply from his shoulders in tired folds.

“Got to bed, you pile of sticks,” Griselda ordered, knocking his armored forearm lightly with her fist. “You look like you're afraid another girl is gonna ask you to dance.”

“Mom, I wasn't afraid!”

“Sure, sure.” Griselda said in the tones of one who knew better.

“Mom.”

“I know, I know.”

“I wasn't!”

“Of course you weren't, my little mushroom.”

Groaning in defeat the Autumn King got up, blanket hanging from his shoulder, and trailed off in the direction of his room.

“You never said if she was pretty or not!” Griselda's voice caught him before he got through the door, “Did you like her?”

“ _Mom_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super long because I told someone Griselda would show up in this chapter. Originally it was a decent length but then it kind of exploded and it should rightly cut it in two, but I promised.
> 
> 90% of Bog's conversation when he's talking to his mother is just "Mom!" or "Mom, no!" This trend started when he was a teenager and continues for the rest of his life because she will never stop embarrassing him and calling him "my little mushroom" during important meetings. He puts up with it better in private because he knows it's just how she shows affection.
> 
> I had fun having Marianne hanging out with her siblings. I really don't know why I gave her another brother and sister except it gives Marianne more chances to be a protective big sister. I also suppose it might give Dawn a chance to do some protecting and not be the protected one by default. But lemme say, the entire Summer family is formidable in their own ways, and it really isn't wise to mess with ANY of them.
> 
> And, hey, some Sunny! He will be showing up more later. (especially when I figure out more details about his life and background)
> 
> For more bits and bobs visit my tumblr: http://abutterflyobsession.tumblr.com/


	6. Chapter 5: A Promising Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is Going Smoothly (For Now)

“This is the most exciting thing to ever happen to me.” Mairi breathed.

She was sitting outside on the edge of a fountain, holding an envelope like it contained the secrets of the universe. Five minutes ago she had swooped down on the garden, coming from the direction of their father's study, and had sought out Dawn. Now the two sisters sat side-by-side looking at the envelope with identical wide-eyed expressions of amazement.

“He _wrote_ to you? I can't believe it.” Dawn took the envelope and examined the wax seal on the flap. Finding it to be genuine she handed it back to Marianne. “Open it, open it!”

With the air of one unlocking a treasure chest Marianne snapped the seal in half, lifted the flap and extracted a sheet of paper. Dawn crammed her head next to Marianne's so that they were pressed ear-to-ear as they read the thick black writing.

 _To the Summer Heir,_ it began. _I write to request a favor . . ._

It was signed, _hoping to receive word of your approval, sincerely, The Autumn King_

“He wants to know more about Summer.” Marianne scanned the few lines, “And begin discussions about opening the borders. Oh. Oh, my goodness!” She turned and grabbed Dawn by the shoulders, “The Autumn King wants to open the borders! He asked _me_ to help advise him!” She shook her sister, “Me! Advising the king of goblins! Think of all the things I can learn about the Autumn Kingdom! Oh! Maybe I'll even _go there_.”

“To Autumn?” Dawn wasn't so certain about this idea. She twined her arms around her sister's. “That doesn't sound safe.”

“Not right away. Not for ages. But imagine being the first welcomed delegation—this is stuff for history books. No, it's probably not safe right now, but it can be _made_ safe. I can help _make_ it safe. Dawn, I'm going to burst!” She shook her sister even harder, laughing, then grabbed her for a hug. Both sisters laughed.

Breaking apart, Dawn took the letter once more and examined the wax seal again, embossed with a distinct leaf. “When you tore down here I was sure it was a letter from Roland.” Marianne's face glowed and she looked away with an embarrassed smile. “I thought you'd got your first love letter. But I suppose to _you_ this is better than any dopey love letter.”

“Heh.” Marianne reclaimed her letter and admired it from all angles, “I'm going to have to reply right away. There's a messenger waiting and everything. Oh! I was supposed to meet Roland half an hour ago—could you--?”

“Pass on your excuses? That you've got to finish uniting two kingdoms before you can make it to tea? Certainly, I'm sure he won't be cross. Or jealous of your love note.”

Marianne hit her sister on the shoulder with the letter of peace and flew off to her own study to compose a reply and check that her hair looked good and maybe change into a different dress. Sunny popped up just in time to see Marianne leave and Dawn told him what was going on while they went to give Marianne's message to Roland.

“Everything is happening at once.” She said, “Just when I'm starting to get involved in court life for real then Marianne finds a sweetheart and then the Autumn King wants to come out into the light. Oh, it's so much fun to be alive and happy.” She kicked her legs out and wiggled her feet, fluttering above the lawn. She let them drop back into the grass as a thought struck her. “I wonder if they'll get married.”

“Who?”

“Roland and Marianne. What if they got married? They could have kids. I'd be an aunt. Is that allowed? To be an aunt before I've even had a boyfriend?”

“Whoa, whoa, I think you're rushing that a bit.”

“Would they live here or would she move away? Oh, I don't know what I would do if she left. What _any_ of us would do. Marianne, she . . . she's always taken care of all of us.”

“Hey.” Sunny took Dawn's hand, “You're doing that thing.”

“Which thing? I do so many things. Is it the over-thinking thing?”

“Yup.”

“Where I get totally worried over nothing.”

“Not over nothing. You just kind of take things and . . . magnify them.” He took his hand away to bring his arms out in a gesture of explosion. “You'd miss your sister if she left, yeah, but she hasn't left. Marianne hasn't said anything about leaving.”

“Yeah.”

“Anyway, she's the Summer Heir. No way on earth she'd leave the palace and all her work. No way on earth she'd leave any of you. If she marries anybody he'd better like her family just as much as she does—otherwise he's not getting to the altar. Marianne's looked after you—and me—for most of our lives. No way she's going to ditch that investment.”

“Hee! She'll have to wait for her stocks to mature. It's just kind of a rush, thinking about what all this new stuff will lead to. Marianne knows where she's going, but where am I going?”

Marianne's future seemed to have rolled out before them like a red carpet leading off into the sunset. There were no bends in that road so far as Dawn could see. As for herself she seemed to stand at a crossroads without sign posts, peering down roads that were indistinguishable from each other. Where she stood now was pleasant enough. The social life at court suited her perfectly and she gloated over the invitations and visiting cards she received. More dancing than diplomacy, her sister had said. Where did one go in life with dancing?

“Hmm.” Sunny considered the question, “How about to the kitchens to steal some sandwiches and then down to the river?”

“What a trite response to my existential dilemma!”

“But do you wanna?”

“Absolutely! Let me give the message to Roland and we'll get going!”

Existential dilemmas could always be postponed until after an afternoon with her best friend.

  
  


“Smiling over your love notes?” Dawn entered through the window in a flower-scented breeze. She wore a formal gown and had her yellow hair down up in ribbons and flowers. Dropping herself into the window seat of Marianne's study she pulled off her slippers, put her feet up on a stood and wiggled her toes. “I've just been to tea with the Earl Talbot of Winter and had to listen to war stories. Not even his own war stories—his _grandfather's_ war stories.”

“Yes, I've endured my share of polite society with the Earl.” The corners of Marianne's mouth turned down in a sharp grimace. “And it isn't a love note.” She added.

“Well, smiling over your diplomatic correspondence, then? You always have this especially pleased smile when you get letters from Autumn. Even Roland doesn't get you to light up like that.”

“The reason I'm smiling—or was,” She made a face at her sister. “Is because I've just found out the the great and terrible Autumn King has a sweetheart.”

“ _What_?” Dawn sat up, her wings spreading out behind. “He _told_ you? I thought you were building bridges between peoples, not gossiping about royal love affairs. You have been withholding gossip from me, you snail!” She threw a shoe at her sister's head but it missed and knocked into a pile of correspondence.

“If you insist on this unseemly behavior,” Marianne rushed to save her tumbling wall of letters, “I shall never tell you and you will die of curiosity.”

“I still have one shoe left!”

“I yield, I yield! My desk can't take this kind of barrage!” Marianne searched her desk for a bit and found the letter from the Autumn King. “It's not so much as he said, but this is the third time he's mentioned her and he let slip that she was sitting in his study like it was a usual thing.”

“Perhaps she's just a friend?”

“He's expressed how nice it is to have someone to confide in and accompany him on social outings.” She held the letter up to the light and squinted at the writing. “And it appears that after he writes her name—Elvira, by the way—he sort of pauses for a minute. There's a smudge were he rests his hand.”

“Smitten.” Dawn conceded. “I wonder what she looks like. I wonder what they wear besides armor.”

“It's just absurd how little we know about each other.” Marianne dropped the letter and picked at the corners. “If I could just _go_ there and _see_ it would help tremendously.”

A visit to Autumn was often discussed but the road to realizing such a thing was fraught with difficulties. The Autumn King was still facing a great deal of opposition to the whole endeavor and was kept busy dealing with the day-to-day running of his kingdom. Marianne did not envy him that. Her father had left Summer's half of this project almost entirely in her hands and it dominated her time near to completely. Somehow she squeezed in her regular duties and visits with Roland, but it was a tight fit. How on earth did the Autumn King manage to do it _and_ run an entire kingdom? The mind boggled. Hopefully he was good at delegation.

“The thing to do,” Marianne stood up, stretching her wings and arms, “Is to just fly over there myself and drop by in time for afternoon tea with the Autumn King and his sweetheart.”

“He's got a _sweetheart_?” Lysander appeared in the doorway and he was looking thoroughly scandalized. The young prince still had mixed feelings about the Autumn King but he felt strangely let down to imagine the fearsome looking goblin caught up in any sort of romantic nonsense. “You told me he was afraid of girls!”

“Traitorous eavesdropper!” Dawn pitched her other shoe and it missed Lysander and knocked over a flower pot in the hall. “What if we had been discussing state secrets?”

“Then you ought to have shut the door.”

“The spy has a point.” Marianne said. “As for being afraid of girls, well, that's a phobia that wears off with age. You'll recover from it yourself, someday, Sand.”

“Urgh.”

 

Marianne's relationship with Roland was progressing nicely. Shortly after they met he had been one of the candidates for Captain of the Guard for the border patrol and he had quickly ousted the competition and achieved the position. It kept him busy and on a lot of border patrols, but Marianne had her own work to see to. Dawn was a positive social butterfly, enjoying tea and gossip with a large and varied group of friends. Iona broke an arm wrestling a boy because he made fun of Marianne for dealing with goblins. The boy had two black eyes and a broken nose. The only reason Iona broke her arm was because she rolled over and smashed into a stone curb in her struggles.

“He said they weren't people!” Iona grieved, sitting in Marianne's lap while Dawn tied a colorful scarf over her little sister's sling. “Said you were crazy for trying to be friends with goblins. They are _so_ people! I've _talked_ to them. I _know_.”

And so she had talked to goblins. She was great friends with the regular messengers from Autumn: Stuff and Thang. Iona would play with them while they waited for Marianne to compose replies to the messages they brought her. The two of them were quite taken with the little girl and would bring her things from the forest: interesting rocks, mushrooms, sticks, and no end of questionable, slimy sort of things. All of it was harmless and Iona loved it.

Iona brought them cookies, snacks, and flowers. She made crowns and necklaces for Stuff and boutonnières for Thang. “Doesn't she look _gorgeous_?” Iona asked, showing off Stuff's latest flower accessories. Until then Marianne had not realized Stuff was actually a girl, but Iona had apparently known without being told. Many an afternoon the little fairy with pink wings could be heard running and laughing in the hallways outside of Marianne's study, two goblins shorter than her following close behind.

Marianne would have liked to solve the problem by inviting the little boy to play with her sister and the goblins and dispelling ignorance with education, but before it could be suggested his parents took him and left court. They were equally parts dismayed that their son had damaged the little princess and worried about, as they said, “Goblins overrunning the place.” Dawn had gone quite pink with rage over the whole thing and Sunny had to talk her down from “going and teaching those mean people a lesson!” What Dawn would have actually done no one was sure.

The Summer King had sighed when he heard about the incident and asked Marianne if she realized that this was not going to be an unusual thing. “What we've proposed to do is a huge change. People will be frightened and lash out in fear.”

“Only because they don't _understand_.” Marianne retaliated, “that's the whole point, isn't it? Communication and understanding. That's why we've made so little progress all these months, because no one will let me go _learn_ about Autumn and its people. I can't allay people's fears if I don't know what's true and what's not. The Autumn King tells me a few things, but he hardly has time to write out textbooks for me.”

“I was under the impression that your correspondence was purely . . . diplomatic?” Her father's expression was concerned.

“Oh, so so.” Marianne waggled a hand, “Sometimes we grumble about paperwork and obstructive bureaucrats. Look, that's what I'm talking about right now. How scared can you be of someone when they sympathize with your frustration over overzealous pencil-pushers, even if he is seven feet tall and covered in armor?”

“Back to the subject of Iona.” Her father said, tabling the argument for the moment, “I'm worried about her spending so much time with the Autumn messengers. She's young and impressionable.”

“She's the one leaving an impression.” Marianne snorted. “She's teaching Stuff and Thang how to behave at a formal tea party, napkins on their laps and everything.”

“Nevertheless.”

“But young and impressionable is perfect! She doesn't know to be scared of them and so she's not! What she learns about them isn't skewed by bias, I think---”

“I know what you think, Marianne.” Her father broke in, a bit short, “We've discussed it before. But Iona's association is estranging her from the other children of her age and class and that isn't right or healthy. I'm not saying she has to give up the friendship but I do feel she ought to be better supervised when she's with the messengers and also encouraged to play with other children.”

In the end either Dawn or Marianne had to be present when Iona played with the goblins. Since both girls had their own schedules to keep this cut down considerably on Iona's playtime with her new friends. She was a faithful friend, however, and waved to them from her window and threw them notes tied around rocks. Stuff was good at dodging but Thang usually got his messages right on the head.

Dawn had solved one of her worries by getting a boyfriend. He lasted a week. She had two more after that and they met similar ends to the first beau. All of them were terribly handsome and completely boring, so far as Marianne was concerned. Lysander and Dawn were wary of the goblin visitors but equally curious and by default friendly people. Marianne knew Lysander had drawings of Iona and the goblins chasing crickets.

There were reports from the border patrol about seeing increased goblin activity along the Summer-Autumn border, but it seemed that the Autumn people were still staying on their own side of the line for the moment. Sunny turned out to be a good source of information about this because his parents lived in one of the elf villages that were scattered along the fringes of the Summer Kingdom.

One afternoon when things were slow enough Marianne invited Sunny over to lunch in the gardens. Dawn was off somewhere with her latest boyfriend but was expected later. Iona rushed up to Sunny the moment she spotted him and measured herself against him and found herself taller than him. She had been taller than Sunny for some time but it was a source of endless delight to her that she was taller than someone older than her. The elf took it in good humor. “Yeah, so you're taller, huh? Well, I can still do _this_!” And he picked her up and swung her around until she begged, giggling, to be let down. He did as requested and added, “Besides, you're still not taller than my hair.”

“Hair doesn't count!”

“C'mon, monster.” Marianne, “Eat your lunch. And hair counts. I'm an authority.”

“An authority on hair?” Sunny asked.

“No, just generally an authority. Lysander, stop teasing the tadpoles and come to the table! It's like herding mice, I swear.”

“Tyrant!” Lysander said, coming away from the pond.

“That's future tyrant, to you.” Marianne shot back.

The days were getting cooler as Autumn's season came into prominence and the garden was cool, clouds sliding over the sun and casting gray shadows over the grounds. Still, it was not yet cold enough to even need a sweater so a lunch in the gardens in the fresh air was perfectly enjoyable.

“Father is coming by at some point,” Marianne warned Sunny, “But I've already told you I'm interviewing you for news about the fringe villages, so don't worry about hightailing it when he comes.”

“Yeah, okay.” Sunny replied, not very cheerful. His friendship with the princesses and prince had gone by mostly without comment from the King until recent times. Since the Summer King's crackdown on Iona's playtime with the goblins their father had been becoming more and more strict about who they spent their time with. An elf page from the fringe villages was no longer a suitable friend and companion for the young royalty, though the king had so far not actually forbidden his visits.

“Yeah.” Sunny said again, “It's okay, I'll just go when he comes. Don't want to step on any toes.”

“Don't worry about it.” Marianne insisted.

“But I kind of really do. Worry about it. In case you haven't noticed your dad is kind of the king and if he gets mad at me that could be . . . super uncomfortable.”

Marianne opened her mouth to say it didn't matter, she wouldn't let her father push her friends around, but she stopped. Sunny was just a page. If it even _appeared_ that he had gained the king's disapproval there would be severe consequences. Sunny might be dismissed from his position just on the basis of rumor. If Marianne butted in and forced them to take him back that would win the elf no friendly feelings from the other palace staff.

“Sorry.” She said, “If it makes you uncomfortable it's fine if you leave. Let's get down to business, shall we?” She flipped open a notebook and pulled out a pencil. Iona demanded to know if they were going to be boring now and if they were could she go play with the tadpoles because she'd eaten all her lunch.

Sunny's had grown up by the borders of Autumn and easily described the edges of the blackthorn forest and the dense thorns and brambles that kept outsiders from venturing more than a matter of yards into the shadowy Autumn territory. It was like a spiked wall woven among the trees, going up almost to the tree tops. There was no way through, around, over, or under the barrier without shredding yourself to pieces.

“The thing is,” Sunny said, “It isn't like that anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mom and Dad have been writing and they say that the barrier is gone. Nobody knows when or how, but it isn't there anymore. You can see into the forest and there are roads and stuff, like they've been there all along. Nobody's gone too far in, 'cause once you get the the mushrooms--”

“Mushrooms?”

“Yeah, I know, right? There's these mushrooms all in a row so you can't get too far without crossing them. And if you get too close they start kinda whispering and muttering. They think it must be kind of alarm because Autumn soldiers show up after a bit.”

“To chase people off?”

“Uh, I don't think anyone has stuck around long enough to be chased off.”

Marianne reviewed her notes, “A wall of thorns that disappeared and muttering mushrooms? And my dad talked about sending delegations to Autumn and having them chased back across the border, but he never mentioned the thorns.”

Dawn and the Summer King arrived at almost the same moment so Sunny's escape attempt was foiled by the younger princess grabbing his hand. “Don't you dare run off, I've had the most horrible day and I need some _sensible_ people around.”

“I thought you were with your new beau—Nathanial, was it? The stable hand?” Marianne said before turning to greet her father and give him a peck on the check.

“New beau?” The Summer King asked, his fatherly senses on high alert. “Stable hand?”

“No,” Dawn shook her head, “Gerald, the footman's son.”

Her father's eyebrows shot up and he looked at Marianne as if to say, you promised to help prevent this sort of thing! Marianne just shook her head a tiny bit and nodded at Dawn.

“But he's not my sweetheart anymore.” Dawn continued. The king's shoulders slumped down in relief. “He said something quite rude about goblins and lower life forms and I can't remember what but I pushed him out a window and he got stuck in a tree. It must be the day for this sort of thing because after that I went to visit those ladies visiting from Winter and they said the most mean and sly things about Autumn and how it was so—so _silly_ for Marianne to be trying to make friends with them.”

“What did you do then?” Lysander and Marianne were fascinated and the king looked pained. Sunny was sliding down in his seat trying to suppress his laughter and disappear.

“I told them they were terrible old gossips and why shouldn't we be friends with Autumn? Just because they look scary? So I stuck out my tongue at them and came here.”

“You did not!” Marianne cried, torn between delight and horror.

“Yes, I did! But only when they weren't looking.” Dawn admitted.

  
  


The Autumn King was also facing opposition to the idea of permanently opening the borders, but he had expected that and was grimly determined to slog through the complaints and go through with the project anyway. The thing that did surprise him was the amount of _support_ the idea received. After he attended the Summer Ball and word got around what the king intended to do he began to be deluged by endless letters from all corners of his kingdoms. The expected opposition was there, but then there were other letters, surprising letters.

“It's from my cousin, on father's side.” The king looked at the envelope and frowned at it.

“Which one?” Griselda asked. She was going through some of her son's correspondence even though he had asked her three times to stop.

“The fuzzy one.” The king snorted, opening the letter.

“Oh, Roderick.” Griselda nodded. “I always thought you two looked rather alike.”

The king looked up and stared at his mother for a moment. “I am not fuzzy.”

“No, you're my spiky little hedgehog.” She leaned over and pinched her son's cheek, asking, “Isn't Roderick the one who tied up your wings when you were small and dangled you off a tree stump?”

“Yesh.” Her son said, trying to pull his face away. Griselda finally let go and he rubbed the side of his face with the heel of his hand, thinking dark thoughts about cousin Roderick.

“Then when we pulled you back up you hit him with a rock so hard his chest plate cracked. You were such a little scamp.” The queen regent said in tones of great fondness.

“I did, didn't I?” A small slant of a grin crossed the king's face, his mood lightening. Returning to the letter he read out loud:

 

_“I heard all about you going to Summer for the party. Never thought you had it in you to do something so interesting. Are you going next year? If so, I'm coming and I'm bullying my family into coming too so we can all take a squint at the land of sunshine and butterflies.”_

_Still astounded that you had the guts,_

_Roderick_

_PS If you don't give me an invite to come along I'll come over to that moldering heap of a castle and kick you right into the swamp.”_

 

Roderick was not the only interested party. Much of the younger generations in Autumn were fascinated by the idea of lands they had never seen full of people completely different from themselves. The older folks going on about danger just added to the adventure of the whole thing and fired up their imaginations. Hardly a month after the king's visit to Summer the young nobles of court were planning on accompanying him on his next.

It was a good year.

It was the week before the Summer Ball and it had been decided that Marianne and Roland would officially announce their engagement at the party. There were notes to be sent out afterward but Marianne had enclosed one with the Autumn King's invitation along with a personal note saying she hoped to see him and Elvira there this year. She was certain she would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm. 'Cause after this it all goes down hard.
> 
> A lot of filler, this lot. I'm just trying to build up to the next good bit. Didn't plan on having Bog and Griselda show up, but they snuck in when I wasn't looking.
> 
> Elvira is this story's equivalent of the froggy girl from That Fateful Day in Bog's youth. Like Roland she won't hang around much until she becomes plot relevant. I know I should have had Griselda teasing Bog about his sweetheart, but I just don't have the energy today. Fear not, she'll get around to it.


	7. Chapter 6: Fracture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel I should mention that while this work does not faithfully follow the movie you may still infer SPOILERS from it.
> 
> Also, a WARNING, a bit of gore, lovingly described.

Pare was mayor of an elf village that was smack up against the boundary line that separated Autumn from Summer. The mayor was a large, round elf with a kind and easy going nature and tended to get along with everyone. So in the week before the upcoming Summer Ball when goblins started to trickle over the border and have a look around at Summer, Pare went to find out who was in charge, say hello, and ask what was going on.

It soon became clear that there was no central authority figure in charge of this group. Pare was familiar enough with the upper classes of Summer to recognize that these visitors from Autumn were noblemen looking for an afternoon's worth of adventure and not some invading force bent on destruction. The goblins had been exploring the fields and outskirts but had not come near the village itself until the Autumn King himself showed up.

The goblin monarch sought out the mayor and asked if the goblins had been causing any trouble. Pare, somberly impressed by being consulted by the Autumn King, was very glad to say no trouble had been caused and that the visitors were welcome to join the village's own little celebration the next evening—so long as they agreed to follow certain rules.

“You're willing to put up with this bunch?” The king was skeptical, “Well, what rules?”

“Just that they behave themselves, pay for their food and drink, bring no weapons and start no trouble.”

The king agreed to this and promised to see that the rules were observed. To help insure this he left a goblin scout with the mayor. If there was any trouble at all Pare was to send a message to Autumn with the scout and the king would send people to collect the rowdy noblemen. The king left, flying back into the forest, turning back once to look at the friendly, reasonable elf and shake his head in disbelief at such geniality.

The scout was a reptilian looking goblin who introduced herself as Lizzy and happily followed Pare around all day asking questions about everything and helping with setting up the decorations. Some of the elves were hesitant about the goblin nobles, but almost everyone liked Lizzy because an extra set of hands was always welcome come festival time.

 

* * *

  
  


The Autumn King sighed, settling into his chair with much rustling of wings and armor, staring at the ceiling. The business with all the young goblins playing tourist had been settled without difficulty—excepting a small run-in with Roderick—and it was to be hoped that they would not cause any trouble. Certainly any of them that did would lose any chance of being part of the entourage accompanying the king to the Summer palace in a few days time. He still needed to go over the lists of names and make the final decision about who would be attending. Really, he should have done that weeks ago so he could give the Summer Heir proper notice, but he'd been putting it off for one reason or another.

“Have you done it yet?” As if speaking in place of her son's conscious Griselda popped into the room.

“Done what?” Her son asked, jumping a bit at the sudden blare of his mother's voice.

“Don't play coy with me, my little bog flower. Have you asked your little lily pad sweetheart to come to the Summer Ball with you?”

The Autumn King's pale, greenish face flooded with red from his chin to the pointed tips of his ears. Sometimes he still tried to deceive himself that the whole kingdom did not know his business, but his mother always came along and dispelled that illusion with remarkable thoroughness. But the king was stubborn.

“I don't know what you mean.” He picked up the first piece of paper that came to hand and pretended to be reading it.

“Puh-leeze!” Griselda threw her hands up, “That girl has been the only thing on your mind for months. You can't talk to her without getting all starry-eyed and goofy-faced.”

“Mother.” The king muttered, sinking behind his letter.

“So get it over with already and ask Elvira to go with you. You've been taking your time about the whole thing, that's for sure. You talk and talk to the girl but never _say_ anything. You'll talk her to death before you ever kiss her, if you keep this up.”

There was only so much space underneath the king's desk and as his legs took up most of that space the king could only sink so far down in his chair before his knees hit the front panel and halted his downward progress.

“I might just go tell that girl myself.” Griselda considered.

“Mom!” The king shot up in his chair and banged his knees against the underside of the desk. Papers slipped and slid from their stacks while the Autumn King doubled over in pain. “Don't you dare!”

“Mmhm. I do have some errands to run right now so if you move quick you might beat me to the punch. Bye-bye, dear!” The little goblin woman pattered out the room.

“Mother!” The king roared, but she was gone. He sank back down in his chair and drummed his fingers on the desk. One, two, three four, one, two, three four, his claws tapped the papers, thumb bouncing in the air. Griselda would do it, too, she would go right up and blare the whole thing to Elvira, probably in front of a whole crowd of innocent bystanders.

Only one thing to do.

Squaring his shoulders, the king stood up, scooping up the envelope containing the invitation the Summer Ball as he headed to the door. Halfway he stopped, turned back, and rummaged in the drawer of his desk until he unearthed a small pinkish bottle. The bottle was slipped into the pocket of his waistcoat and he patted at the small lump as he walked down the hall.

Somewhere in the hall behind the departing Autumn King a wall hanging shook and snickered until Griselda peeked out from behind it, a very wide and very pleased smile on her face.

 

* * *

 

Elvira was by the pond outside the castle, picking her graceful way across the mossy ground, tail flicking behind her. The Autumn King's heart jumped at the sight of her and he had to resist the urge to run up, shouting hello. She was a very beautiful girl—by goblin standards. If one of the Summer fairies had seen Elvira they would have thought her to looked something very much like a cross between a lizard and a frog, When the king approached she smiled, showing rows of white, pointed teeth in her wide, green face. She nodded politely, her long, frondy ears brushing against her shoulders.

Deep breaths, thought the king, deep breaths. Okay, okay.

“Good . . .” He shot a quick glance at the patches of sky that showed through the trees, “. . . afternoon, Elvira.”

“Good afternoon, sire.” The girl replied, demure.

“There's no need to be formal. I mean, you can . . . call me by my name?”

The invitation was still in his hand and he had to stop himself from shredding it in his agitation. What an idiot he must be sounding right now. It wasn't as if they had never talked before, quite the opposite. He and Elvira had enjoyed many conversations discussing all sorts of topics and she did not mind listening to him rant a bit about the frustrations of running a kingdom. In fact, she often offered some helpful suggestions in how to deal with the more bothersome problems that came up. She had a knack for management, he thought, and much more patience than he did.

“What's that?” Elvira smiled and pointed to the invitation and kindly giving him something to talk about.

“This? This is . . .” He pulled out the invitation and handed it to her. Two more pieces of paper dropped from the envelope and he snatched them up without looking at them. “This is the invitation from Summer to their annual ball and I was wondering--”

“Oh, you're not going to that _again_ , are you?”

The king flinched. “Yes?

“I thought you'd had enough nonsense with that stuck-up Summer bunch. Haven't we got it all settled? Autumn and Summer are allied, we sell them out spider silk, and they leave us alone.” Elvira swept one large, clawed hand out in a severing gesture before she folded her arms and tossed her head.

“But it's such a delicate arrangement!” Now the king's tongue was loosened because this was familiar ground and this was a topic he had been arguing for months. “Given the smallest excuse Summer would cut us off and we'd be fair game to anyone who cares to try their hand. I feel that--”

“You think your own kingdom is as weak as that?” Elvira snapped, “Even if they did turn on us there's no reason to think it would be _us_ that came out worse in the end.”

“The point isn't whether we win or lose—a war would still devastate our land. The Summer Heir agrees and--”

“Yes, yes,” Elvira rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows you met the Summer Heir. Your mother just won't shut up about how amazing that princess is, how kind, how friendly—how condescending!”

Rubbing the back of his neck, the king turned to look at the still waters of the murky green pond, rolling his shoulders forward and picking at this waistcoat pocket. The invitation had fallen into the damp moss, the thick card resisting the moisture for the moment and showing up bright against the dull green.

“S-sorry to have brought it up.” The king mumbled. He felt the bottle in his pocket and reached to pull it out, but the papers in his hand got in the way.

When opening the invitation he had not noticed the other two pieces of paper and only now did he glance down and look at them. One was a handwritten note from the Summer Heir, dashed off in a quick scribble, saying she hoped to see him and Elvira at the ball. The other, he shuffled the papers around, was an official announcement of some kind . . . Black print boldly proclaimed the engagement of Princess Marianne, Summer Heir, to Captain Roland of the Summer Guard.

Oh.

The Summer Heir had never mentioned this. Then again, why should she have? Their exchange of letters had been friendly, but mainly about the business of renegotiating the treaty and delegations and such things. And she was telling him now. Before everyone else, it would seem, since the announcement's date was still in the future.

Suddenly tired, the king rubbed his eyes and turned back to Elvira and changed the subject. They talked for some time of this and that. Elvira was much more at ease when not discussing anything to do with the Summer Kingdom. It seemed to be a given that Elvira would not be attending the ball with him and the thought of facing the bright light and intense scrutiny of the Summer alone weighed heavily on his mind. Then again, he and the Summer Heir would have a lot to discuss, so that might take him away from the stares for awhile. Ah, but she would be busy with her fiancé, no doubt.

How his eyes did itch! The king made a small noise of irritation, grinding his knuckles against his eye sockets. Elvira asked if he was all right, touching his hand, causing an electric shock to go though his arm and set his heart pounding. “Just something in my eye.” He muttered, trying to dismiss it even though his eyes were fairly burning now. “Nothing. Oh, I had something for you.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out the bottle.

“Sire, sire!” Stuff and Thang were bouncing along the path from the castle, waving their arms. Blinking, the king frowned, his lips drawing back into a displeased snarl. Just what he needed right now.

“What is it?” He snapped at the frantic little goblins.

“Trouble at the border, sire!” Thang huffed, out of breath.

“Argh! I knew it! What have those idiots done? Burned down the elf village? I assume Roderick was responsible for whatever happened.” Grip tightening around the bottle in his hand, the Autumn King resigned himself to traveling down to the border and sorting out whatever mess awaited him there. Other . . . things . . . would have to wait.

“Let's get this over with.”

 

* * *

  
  


Marianne was combing her hair in front of the mirror in her room and thinking happily about how it was only a matter of minutes until Roland would return, escorting the Winter delegation to the palace for the ball. Spring had arrived the day before and begun their preparations for the festivities. Royalty, Marianne knew from experience, needed ample time to organize themselves and deal with business matters before the celebrations.

Autumn still hadn't confirmed the number of people that would be coming or when they would arrive. She'd sent a teasing note to the Autumn King advising him to be punctual this year and he had written back welcoming her to try and organize and mobilize the over-excited goblin nobles if she was going to take such a superior attitude about it. Marianne smiled over this and looked up when Dawn danced into the room with Iona in tow.

“We match!” Iona declared, the two princesses posing for Marianne.

They did match. Dawn was wearing a blue dress with pink trimming and gloves and Iona wore the same style of dress only with the color scheme reversed. Marianne put down her brush and applauded. “Dresses all ready, then?” She asked as they curtsied.

“Yes, they came while you were at the council meeting. Your's is here, too! Try it on! Try it on!”

“Later, later!” Marianne protested, “I've got things to do first and a whole week—or nearly—to try on my dress.”

“You've got to see your sweetheart, you mean.” Dawn laughed. “And if you're not busy you can say hello to the Winter Queen, but first things first, right?”

“They're here!” Iona was standing in the window and pointed down, “I see the Winter banners! They're here!” There was a brief scramble to check that shoes were on the right feet and skirts hung straight before they all burst from the window and down toward the front of the palace.

The Summer King and Lysander were already there when the three princesses swooped down and took their places alongside. The Winter people were moving slowly and as they drew nearer Marianne noticed that the usual feeling of festivity that usually accompanied guests arriving for the ball was strangely lacking.

The Summer Guard came first, splitting to stand at attention along the path to the front doors of the palace. The Winter Guard was next, dressed in silver armor and white livery trimmed in deep blue, lining up just in front of the Summer Guard so that the way was striped with the lines of green and white soldiers. Down the middle came heralds holding up banners marked with the sharp crescent moon of Winter, white on blue, followed by a stream of lesser nobles walking on foot, behind them the higher nobles in carriages and sedan chairs. From above those Winter folk capable of it flew on white and silver wings, landing on the nearby walls and buildings.

This impressive display was almost perfunctory. There was none of the usual merriment of such gatherings, none of the spontaneous aerial stunts that the younger members of court could not help but usually perform, egged on in their antics by the cheering of the assembly. No one waved greetings to friends they had not seen since last year. No lively chatter filled the courtyard, only an indistinct murmuring.

The Winter Queen, a small, plump woman with silver-white feathered wings, looked grim as she disembarked from her sedan and approached the royal family of Summer.

Before she reached them a messenger approached the Summer King and discreetly whispered,

“ _Problem at the Autumn border_ . . . _escalated_ . . .”

Marianne could only catch snatches but what she did hear and the look on her father's face confirmed her fears that something serious had happened. There was no time to ask him, the Winter Queen was before them, black eyes glittering, her face set into lines of displeasure that were foreign to her normally cheerful countenance.

The Summer King began to go through the ritual greetings but faltered when he saw several soldiers breaking rank. Stumbling, he tried to go on, but gave up when the Winter Queen followed his gaze and turned to see what was going on behind her.

There was some sort of altercation going on between a Summer soldier and a Winter soldier. They were trying to keep their scuffling out of sight but had gotten so absorbed in their quarrel that they did not notice where they were going and the crowd obligingly edged away, leaving the soldiers clear to view from up on the steps. The two soldiers seemed to be fighting for possession of a long, awkward looking bundle wrapped in what appeared to be a saddle blanket.

Already anxious from the inexplicable tension that hummed in the air, Marianne was disgusted by this petty display. It was all too ridiculous and in the worst sort of way. Everyone was trying to pretend nothing was happening even while they stared at the combatants, some strange politeness keeping the crowd from mentioning the absurd breach of etiquette. Marianne looked to her father, for a sign of what to do or permission to intervene, but he was not looking at her.

The Winter soldier gave a sudden tug at the bundle and pulled it out of the Summer soldier's hands, but failed to grab hold of it. The bundle fell to the ground and burst open, the contents displayed for all to see.

There was a collective gasp from the crowd. Dawn leaned forward to see, but when she realized what she was seeing she turned away and threw her arms around Marianne, hiding her face in her sister' shoulder. Iona shrieked, wings spreading out in shock. Lysander turned ashen and could not look away.

Marianne was likewise frozen, unable to tear her eyes away from the grisly thing. For long seconds her eyes roved over the thing, taking in every detail with a detached coolness.

The thing laying there on the white paving stones was a dismembered goblin arm.

It had been roughly hacked off at the elbow joint and was covered in gray-green armor that extended down to the back of the hand. The pale, greenish hand was huge, easily three times the size of Marianne's own, the long fingers interrupted with large knuckles and terminating in dark claws. The end where it had been severed was raw and red inside, strings of flesh hanging off it, a chip of yellowed bone poking out.

Marianne recognized that hand.

Wasn't it the hand that she had taken last year and lead onto the ballroom floor for that one, awkward dance? Had it been those fingers that had so delicately held hers?

Marianne thought all these things but she felt none of them. Somehow she was turning, pulling her siblings away, gathering them in her arms and pushing them back up the steps into the palace, away from the gruesome object. The crowd was erupting now. Marianne did not turn back to look, she just kept going until they were inside and the door was shut behind them. Dawn was hugging Lysander and they were both crying. Iona was sobbing, wild and gasping, clinging to Marianne's skirt and hiding under her own wings.

Finally, reality crashed down on Marianne and she gave a little gasp.

Had she just seen--?

Was the Autumn King dead?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me tell you a thing: "Three Little Birds" started playing while I was writing the end of this and I found that INAPPROPRIATE. Really, Sunny and Dawn? Everything is gonna be alright? Is it? IS IT?
> 
> Well, I'm certainly not going to say. You'll have to wait and see. Haha, cliffhanger! Hahaha . . . *trails off into soft sobbing*
> 
> I do not do justice to Bog's would-be sweetheart, here are pictures of her from the movie: http://abutterflyobsession.tumblr.com/post/113843103351/strange-magic-spoilers-that-fateful-day-more-i And I love her because it is made clear that by goblin standards she is one fine looking lady.
> 
> There is a story that fits between when Bog visits the elf village and is daydreaming in his study, but I haven't had time to write it. Maybe I can shoehorn it into the next chapter. It isn't anything bit, just a bit more with the fuzzy cousin Roderick. To be quite frank, this is only half a chapter. It was supposed to all go down with Roland and tons of other stuff but I just haven't had TIME.
> 
> I stayed up late finishing this and I hope you're happy and I'm sorry for any inconsistencies/bad spelling/poor grammar.


	8. Chapter 7: Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first part takes place the day before the events at the end of the last chapter and we get to know Fuzzy Cousin Roderick a bit better.
> 
> And, beware of SPOILERS you might infer.

Seven Days Before the Summer Ball:

When news reached the Autumn Castle of the young goblin nobles hopping the border the king had taken the opportunity to escape from the drudgery of paperwork and his mother's broad hinting on certain subjects.

As was the case with any large group of goblins having fun the king could hear them before he could see them and his ears were assailed with the sound of drunken singing. Most of them appeared to still be on the right side of the border and the typical goblin activities of drinking, drunken singing, and drunken fighting were all in various stages of progress across the area. The only troubling thing was that this was an area that had been deemed off-limits except to those with proper authority, due to its closeness to Summer settlements. Even most of the higher nobles would not have been able to access the place.

The answer soon presented itself in the form of one Roderick of Swamp's End.

Cousin to the Autumn King, his family was wealthy and powerful and naturally had enough influence to force their way into almost any corner of the kingdom that they pleased to. As Griselda had said Roderick did look rather like his cousin, with a similar build, pattern of carapace, and general coloring, though Roderick was older and—as he put it—not so spindly-limbed. Even Roderick's wings were a close match, save that the white patterning was more extensive. The most apparent difference between the cousins was that Roderick was, indeed, fuzzy. A thin layer of velvet covered his carapace and thicker tufts formed around his neck in a collar-like arrangement. The king thought it all looked very itchy.

The Autumn King had never liked him.

He liked Roderick even less now since his cousin had just dropped out of a tree somewhere above him and slamming into the king from behind, pinning his wings down. “Hello, cousin!” Roderick laughed, “How about swim?”

The force of the impact when Roderick dived sent them plummeting toward a muddy patch of water full of discontented looking mosquitoes. At the last moment Roderick released his grip on the king and broke away, swooping lightly over the surface of the pond.

The Autumn King could not get his wings organized in time and hit the mud in a mushy splash. For a few moments he slipped about, trying to get a handhold in the muck. He found his staff and managed to use it to get upright, sneezing mud as he went. Roderick and a group of his friends were gathered on the nearby tree roots, hooting with laughter. “Checking up on us, cousin?” Roderick's smile emphasized the large fangs that grew from his lower jaw.

The king sloshed out of the pond, flicking mud off his wings. “I think I'd like a word with you now, if you don't mind, cousin.” He ground the words out between his teeth and tried to ignore the riotous crowd. Drunk goblins found everything amusing and the king losing his temper would only add to the perceived hilarity. He approached his cousin with the staff held in a defensive position. He was never sure what Roderick might try. Roderick knew he could get away with it, too, because his family was powerful and the king could not risk estranging them.

But Roderick just laughed, leaning against the tree root and accepting a mug of something potent from someone in the crowd. “Oh, it's my little cousin! I haven't seen you for ages—might not have recognized you with your regalia to give me a clue. Come to check up on us?”

“As a matter of fact,” The king could see no physical attack was imminent and straighted up to his full height, “That is just why I'm here.”

“Hm.” Roderick considered his cousin and remarked, “You've grown. More. Are you ever going to stop? You're taller than me now and I'm four years older. You'll have to order a bigger throne made and they'll have to drag it in in pieces because no way it'll fit through the door.”

The king scowled and ground his teeth together to keep from making an angry retort and revealing that the remarks stung. He was tall, far too tall, and doorways and low-hanging branches had long been his mortal foes.

“Is that your father's ring, then?” The king pointed one muddy finger to the copper band set with an amber stone that glimmered on Roderick's right hand. It was his family's symbol of authority, like the king's staff, and could be used to gain access to pathways that crossed the border.

Roderick's smile grew fixed. “I suppose we'd better step aside for a word, yes? Go walk in the sunshine to get you dry?”

“That'd be best.” The king agreed, glowering.

“You see, it's like this,” They pulled out of the crowd and walked around the base of a tree draped with hanging moss. “Dear old dad is up to his neck in sorting out some business matters across the bog--”

“And he left his ring with you.” The king slapped at the front of his waistcoat to free himself from the worst of the mud.

“Just so.” Roderick slung his arm around the king's shoulders, unconcerned by the mud, and pulled him in a conspiratorial huddle as they walked along, “And since he's so far from home right now he doesn't exactly know that I'm out here by the border, you see. This is a sort of off the record thing, because if he found out there is no way he'd let me go with you to the Summer Palace.”

The king freed himself from his cousin's grip. “What makes you so sure you'll be going to Summer, you troublemaker? You just dropped me in the mud!”

“Oh, be reasonable, dear cousin! Just a bit of fun. I owed you that for not inviting me along to the palace last year. This is the first thing you've ever done that's shown a glimmer of imagination and I want in. Right in the eye of all those ancient advisors your dad left you saddled with! I want to get a look at the royal family of Summer, meet this Summer Heir who risked her toes by dancing with you. Think back on our fond childhood memories and find it in your heart to be generous!”

“Roderick, any childhood memory I might have involving you is not one I'd look upon fondly.”

“Listen here, you clattering pile of sticks!” Roderick said, switching to more aggressive tactics the moment he saw coaxing was a dead end. “Do you want to go back into the pond?”

“If you're going to challenge me to a fight we'll have to postpone.” The king broke in, thinking back on many childhood duels fought in similar circumstances. “I've got no end of work to do, all of it urgent, and now I've got to go back and scrub mud out of my ears.”

“Bother, your crown has turned you into an old man before your time!” Roderick poked his cousin's ridged brow as if to dislodge the ghost of the crown. The king tilted his head away and bared his teeth in a grimace. “Fine, fine, don't bite me. How about this, then: I actually support your open borders plan, right?”

“For your own amusement.”

“Regardless. So it is in my power to badger and bully my family around to my way of thinking and win you their support. I think Mother is already weakening and if she gives way Father will be sure to fall in line. But if I'm not included in your little jaunt to Summer next week then I can just as easily turn them against the whole idea.”

“Listen, I only came here to see if you were all behaving yourselves, not get into politics. Tell me, have any of you been bothering the Summer villages?” The king pulled the conversation back to the main topic, ignoring the threat of extortion.

“Nope! We've been good as gold and precious as amber.” Roderick tapped the stone of his ring against the spear's shaft. “Their mayor fellow even came over and said hello.”

“With an armed guard to back him up?”

“No, just asking what was what. Friendly elf.”

“Huh. I suppose I'll have to talk to him. I've got some guards and scouts coming to keep an eye on you lot, so know that if you misbehave you'll all be packed off home.”

“Don't be such a bore, really, cousin. But I suppose you haven't forbidden us from being here and that's a start. If I swear to behave myself and keep everyone else toeing the line will you save me a spot in the entourage?”

The family of Swamp's End would be a great help in aiding his project, the king had to admit. Though not out loud where Roderick could hear. And Roderick was a natural leader among the younger goblins and they all tended to follow his lead. Overall, his fuzzy cousin was better an ally than an enemy. Reluctant to grant his cousin a favor, the king said, scratching the back of his neck thoughtfully, “I'll see. I haven't finished the list yet and if there's room at the end maybe you can be fit in.”

“Which means yes!” Roderick's face split into a sharp grin of greenish fangs. “Hah ha! Knew you'd see it my way, you dour old goblin!” He took off into the air and tumbled head-over-heels, shouting the good news to his friends.

“You'll have to sit next to my mother!” The king shouted up at him.

“Worth it!” Roderick replied.

The Autumn King rolled his eyes and set off back toward the castle, teeth grinding together. He'd need to go home and change and then come all the way back to talk to the mayor of the elf village.

Behind him the festivities raged on and the singing followed him into the forest.

 

* * *

 

 

Six Days Before the Summer Ball:

Inside the grand entrance of the Summer Palace it was cool and quiet, yet Marianne's ears were still ringing from the noise of the crowd outside. That _hand_. Her own hands were stroking Iona's hair and she heard her voice murmuring comforting words but all the while her thoughts were filled with that one thing, her eyes still seeing it.

The spell began to lift off of Marianne when Sunny appeared, a friendly face in the middle of the crowd roaring in her ears. She knew he had probably been watching the procession from a window, had seen the whole thing and come running. He came over to where Dawn and Lysander were huddled on the floor and put his hands on their shoulders, giving a reassuring squeeze.

“I'm okay, I'm okay.” Dawn choked, trying unsuccessfully to compose herself, “I'm okay. Thank you. I'm okay.”

Marianne smoothed Iona's hair and pried the little girl's hands free from her skirt. “Stay here, okay? Stay here with Sunny.” The elf came over and wrapped the little girl in a hug and began to hum some soft, comforting song while the princess hiccuped on her sobs. Dawn and Lysander crept over and all four of them bunched together, hands tangling together, tented under three sets of wings. Marianne's handmaidens arrived then and she put them in charge of escorting the group back to the royal quarters when they felt they could manage it.

Smoothing her tear-stained dress Marianne faced the door. Her family was being taken care of so now she could see to her duties as princess and heir. The first thing to do was get the facts. Even the horrible ones.

Out on the steps the Summer King was trying to talk to half a dozen people at once. The guards who had been fighting over the gruesome bundle were both shouting to be heard over each other. “They killed one of my men!” The Winter soldier was saying, shaking her fist, “I demand justice for him!”

“We were ambushed! There was no way we could have anticipated this betrayal!” The Summer soldier turned out to be Roland. Marianne had been so focused on the arm that she had not seen who was fighting over it. Even now she did not fully register Roland's presence and she floated by him without sparing him a glance. Fluttering down from the top of the steps she gently floated by her father, the Winter Queen, past a rabble of Summer and Winter soldiers, floating, floating, until she found the spot where the severed arm had fallen. It lay exactly where it had fallen. No one had made any attempt to move it or cover it.

Now Marianne's feet touched the ground once more and she folded to her knees in front of the dismembered limb, fists clenched over her knees, her eyes squeezed shut against the sight, her ears closed against the babble of the crowd. All she could hear was the pounding of her own heart in her ears.

She had to know, she had to be sure. She had to open her eyes and look. Look at that limb, terrible thing, discarded on the ground like trash. Like it hadn't been part of a person. Look at the bloodied knuckles of the hand, the chipped edges of the carapace. But she was so afraid. Afraid that if she opened her eyes she would cement this horror in reality. If she looked she might find positive proof that it was the arm of the Autumn King. That her friend was somewhere dead or dying. If it was truly the arm of the Autumn King that lay before her then there would be war and her kingdom would be torn to pieces and burned.

Coward! This was not the time to be weak. Look, find the facts before jumping to the worst possible conclusion..

Her eyes snapped open and she focused an unblinking gaze on the limb, checking off it's characteristics against her year-old memory of the Autumn King. Claws, knuckles, greenish-gray hands beneath the drying blood, armor the color of dead leaves—but, wait. There was something wrong. The _texture_ was wrong. Teeth gritted, Marianne painfully uncurled her own hand and reached out to touch the tips of her fingers against the armor just above the wrist. Her skin was tickled by a coating of velvety fuzz. The carapace was coated in it and near the elbow joint she could now spot where it had been torn off in ragged patches.

The armor of the Autumn King had been rough and hard.

This limb had not been torn from the Autumn King.

The tightness went out of Marianne's body and she slumped forward, throwing her hands out to brace herself against the sun-warmed paving stones. This was . . . not _better_. . . less horrifying. This was _fixable_.

 

* * *

  


Meanwhile:

“Let's get this over with.”

Wings spread, the Autumn King was posed to take flight and head to the border when Stuff said, “Sire, wait! They want you in the throne room!”

“The throne room?” The king's wings folded down again and he exchanged a puzzled look with Elvira. “Who does? Why?” He rubbed absently at his itching eyes.

“That's where the . . . um.” Thang chewed on his lower lip and looked over at Stuff. The green goblin continued for him, “That's where they've taken the bodies, sire.”

“Bodies! You don't mean--?” The king was half crouched to speak with the messengers and he had to place his hand on the mossy ground to keep himself steady. He had been expecting some drunken impropriety from Roderick and company, but now he realized something far more serious was happening. His next words came out low and uncertain, “How many?”

“Two dead so far, sire. They're saying it was the Summer Guard who did it.”

Elvira gasped, clasping her hands against her chest.

Summer? The king was stunned by the idea. Had those fools on the border provoked the Summer Guard? And if two goblins were dead then it was a certainty that they had not left their opponents unscathed—that there were deaths on both sides. If Summer took this as a sign of aggression . . . This was just the sort of thing that could spark off a war! Two dead. So far.

He had to find out what happened.

“I'm coming right now.”

The king stood up.

A wave of vertigo washed over him, almost knocking him off his feet. That was . . . not right. He staggered forward a few steps, the ground heaving under his feet while his eyes burned like they had been rubbed with sandpaper. The pink bottle dropped from his hand and struck a rock, the stopper popping free. Elvira and the messengers were all talking, but none of the words made it through the wind roaring in his ears. What was wrong? He wished he had his staff to steady himself with—he'd left it a little ways down the edge of the pond, stuck upright in the ground. It glittered ahead of him, an anchor in the rolling landscape, but tantalizingly out of reach.

He shook his head, trying to throw off the dizzinesses and get moving. There were people waiting for him in the throne room. Two dead bodies waiting for him. Two dead bodies _so far_. What had happened? What was happening? Why was the world tilting? And his eyes, they _hurt_ . . .

Two drops of liquid slid out from underneath his tightly closed eyes and down his long nose.

The world snapped back into its proper place, sound and sight returning to full clarity. The Autumn King gasped, unsure if he had been breathing at all until that moment. Finally he could hear Thang: “Need any help, sire?”

“No, I—I just got dizzy for a moment.” He dashed his hand across his face and then stopped, looking at the back of his hand. Traces of a strange, rosy liquid glittered on his skin and even as he watched it evaporated in sparkling bursts. Confused, he looked up at Elvira, to ask if she had seen that too. She was looking at him, obviously worried, hands reaching out to support him if he staggered again. This should have made his heart skip a beat, to have her looking at him with such kind concern.

But it didn't.

His heart beat on without interruption.

A strong smell of lilies filled the air as perfume spilled from the bottle on the ground. Griselda had found out Elvira's favorite scent and gotten her son a bottle to give to the girl. He had been about to present it to Elvira when the message had come. A gift to her because he liked her. Because he loved her.

The King looked down at his hand again, his fingers curling to form a fist.

“That was . . .” He whirled around and reached his staff in three long strides. He pulled it free from the moss, clutching it in front of him like a shield, and spoke without turning back around, his bowed head nearly level with his shoulders. “Love potion.” The words were sad and heavy.

Elvira, not able to hear, stepped forward, “What? What's wrong?”

The king's hands tightened over the shaft of his staff until his knuckles were white. “Stuff, Thang, go back to the castle, tell them I'm coming.” The words were high and strained. He watched the goblins go out of sight. Elvira, standing behind him, reached to tap him on the shoulder and he flinched at the touch.

“ _Love potion_!” The king shouted, turning on her with predatory swiftness, hunched body taut, wings spread out full behind him. His voice dropped to a hiss, the words forced from between bared teeth, “You dosed me with a _love potion_.”

W-what?” Elvira backed up a step, hand in front of her mouth, “But it isn't supposed to wear off.” She realized what she had said and clapped both hands over her lips, eyes wide.

“It just _did_.”

 

* * *

 

The arm was now tucked away in a wooden box and set on the table for the consideration of those gathered. The soldiers had brought it along as evidence of the altercation at the border and the forces of Winter and Summer had been arguing over custody of it when it had been dropped into the middle of the procession.

“If she'd just waited until we got inside.” Roland muttered, shooting an irritated look at the captain of the Winter Guard, who had been the other participant in the squabble, “We wouldn't have all this fuss.”

Marianne had dashed back to check on her family before the impromptu council and had found them still badly shaken from the “fuss”. She looked at Roland with disbelief. He was more annoyed than worried about the whole incident and hadn't even asked about Marianne's family or expressed concern for the consequences of hacking up a goblin.

“You were trying to hide the evidence!” The Winter Captain accused, “You took it from my men when I was busy elsewhere.”

“I did not such thing! I was just taking custody of a piece of evidence. This is the Summer Kingdom and I am Captain of the Summer Guard so it it is my responsibility.”

“If we can get down to the facts of the matter?” The Summer King cut through the bickering and directed everyone's attention back to the box on the table. “There are four soldiers lying in the hospital and one being prepared for burial. Territorial squabbling is not high on my list of priorities..”

The story, as it was extracted from the witnesses, was that the Summer Guard, escorting the Winter delegation to the Summer Palace, stopped on their way at an elf village near the edges of the Summer Kingdom. There had been a festival going on, there had been goblins present. The goblins had attacked the travelers—no substantial motivation was cited as to why they did—and there had been a fight. Several people were injured and one Winter soldier was dead. The Winter Queen was furious.

After two hours of debriefing the council took a break so that the Winter Queen could oversee the organization of her room and belongs. Marianne seized the chance to run over and check on her siblings and change into something a little more appropriate to the serious tone the day had taken. Just outside the door to her rooms she was stopped by a young fairy woman.

The girl was thin and delicate, green wings folding neatly behind her when she stood and raised a hand to gain Marianne's attention. “Princess Marianne?” She asked, her voice cracking a little, her face white and teary-eyed. Similar to many faces right now, Marianne thought. After the “fuss” in front of the castle everyone was on edge and several people had asked her when she thought Autumn might attack again.

Marianne glanced at the girl. She was small and delicate and moved with an unconscious grace and elegance. Even in her simple brown and green traveling dress, coated with dust, she looked lovely, elegant in her simplicity. Golden hair flowed in ripples down her back and shy green eyes were cast down, only venturing to look up now and again. Her face was long and perfectly proportioned, falling in thin lines of fatigue and strain.

“Yes, I'm sorry, but I haven't got a moment to spare.” Marianne said, not breaking stride.

“Please, I need to tell you something. It's important.” The girl insisted, following into step with the princess. “And I think you need to know it soon.”

“I'm sorry . . . what was your name?”

“Adeline, your highness.. I—I'm from Spring. I am—I was—at least, I thought I was . . . engaged to Captain Roland.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally misled you with that bottle Bog was carrying, didn't i?
> 
> Sweet mercy, I've broken all the characters. All of them. I-I need some glue and maybe a stapler, hang on, this is totally fixable, I promise.
> 
> Why did the love potion wear off of Bog? How will he react? How will Marianne react to Adeline's claims? What exactly happened on the borders? Whose arm is in the box (okay, that one I bet you've figured out)? Find out next time! Probably!
> 
> Also, young Bog just gets no respect, poor thing.


	9. Chapter 8: Reactions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dealing with betrayal and heartbreak

The debate around the council table seemed endless. Again and again the testimony was gone over, scrutinized from all angles, everyone trying to justify the incident, to shift the blame off themselves. Roland insisted that he had been present at the attack but had only fought in self-defense. The goblin whose arm lay in a box on the table had been fighting with the soldier from the Winter Guard who had died. He claimed that the goblins had attacked first and without provocation or warning.

The witnesses from the Winter entourage disagreed. None of them had seen the start of the fight, but it had erupted as if something had sparked it. Roland and the soldier—Oliver—had gone off ahead to talk to the leader of the goblin group. When they were found Oliver was dead and the goblin gone, save for his severed arm. The Winter Queen was insisting that this unseen confrontation must have been what set the goblins off and that Summer was trying to use Oliver as a convenient scapegoat.

When Roland was giving his testimony and defense Marianne studied him, searching his face and voice for clues. Her gut reaction to his words was that he was lying. But was that a new bias that seeped in and warped her perceptions? Considering her encounter with Adeline, she couldn't be sure.

* * *

  
  


When the girl had said that she, Adeline, was engaged to Roland, Marianne had looked at her and finally stopped walking. The statement—if such an uncertain meandering utterance could be called that—was so absurd that Marianne simply could not think of how to respond. In the end she settled for irritation, because this silly girl was wasting her time.

“If there is a joke there,” Marianne said with frigid politeness, “I'm afraid I don't see it.”

“I'm sorry.” The girl shrank down in on herself, “I'm s-sorry.”

And burst into tears.

Having grown up with Dawn, Marianne was well versed in the language of tears. At a glance she could tell when her sister was sincerely upset or merely trying to get her way. Looking at Adeline now Marianne could tell the girl was overwrought and until this moment had only just been holding herself together.

Marianne put her arm around the girl's shoulder and gently led her down the hall. Awkward as it might be, it was the only thing to do unless she wanted to abandon a weeping young woman in the middle of the palace for the cleaning staff to find. The study was nearest and Marianne sat the girl down on the couch in there and got her a glass of water.

“Were you traveling from Spring?” Marianne asked her, hoping that a neutral topic would calm the girl down. Adeline nodded. “For the Summer Ball?”

“No. To see you.” Adeline sniffed into a handkerchief Marianne had offered.

“You came all the way from Spring to see me? You might have written, you know.”

“I—I know that. It's just so confusing. I meant to see Roland but . . . but then I decided to come straight to you. He had stopped answering my letters.”

“And he was writing to you because . . . you were engaged?”

“Yes. We were. Are. Neither of us broke if off, but in the past month . . . Oh, he kept telling me they were just rumors and not to listen and I believed him! Then I got a letter from a friend who works here at the palace—her name is Pease—and she told me that Captain Roland and the Summer Heir were announcing their engagement at the Summer Ball. And I knew there was no mistake this time and I came to confront him . . . but . . .”

“And you came here instead? Why? To demand I give Roland up so you can marry him? Or were you looking to be paid for your silence?” The words came out harsher than she had intended and Adeline looked horrified.

“No! I never expected you to—to do either of those things. I'm not sure I would want to marry him if you did break it off with him. I know now that he doesn't . . . doesn't love me. I came here just to tell you. I thought you ought to know and before you put out the announcement of your engagement, if possible. There's no reason for you to believe me—I'm just a stranger to you—but I brought my letters. His letter's. Roland's letters to me.”

A large packet of envelopes was produced from the small traveling bag Adeline carried and Marianne accepted them with a sinking heart. At a glance she recognized the cursive with its many flourishes and she knew it to be Roland's handwriting. If this was a hoax, it was a good one.

“Tell me everything.”

* * *

  
  


It was self defense.

Marianne in a chair to the right of her father, listening to the self-justification, shifting of blame. They were doing everything but addressing the issue. They tried to talk the problem out of existence. As if a decision reached here would somehow stop the Autumn Kingdom from lashing out. Finally they got around to saying that maybe Autumn was trying to cause trouble, start something.

Looking to her father she asked softly, “I'm about to do something scandalous but it will get them to shut up for five minutes. Do you mind?” Her father, looking tired and drawn, gestured for her to proceed.

Marianne stood up. Her heavy wood chair scooted back several inches with a shriek. Everyone turned to find the source of the noise and with all eyes on her Marianne reached across the table to pull the box over. She opened it and upended it, the contents hitting the table with a clatter as armor struck wood. A noise of protest and shock was murmured and Marianne ignored it.

“So far everyone is saying that the fight at the border was unprovoked and our people acted purely in self-defense. That the Autumn People were minding their own business one moment, savagely attacking the next. But these are not _facts_. These are _hopes_. It is what you all _hope_ is true and you think that if you repeat it often enough it will become true. But we cannot know what is true or false until we have all the information. Half this story could be told by the Autumn People present at the border today. Which is why, with my father's permission, I have sent word to the Autumn King.”

The murmur of protest grew louder so Marianne raised her voice as she continued.

“His people were involved, he needed to be informed. At least one of them might be dead. And whoever attacked him or her was _not_ acting in simple self-defense.” She reached over and grabbed the arm by the wrist, flipping it around to display the wound, and tried not to think about what she was doing. “Look at the armor on the arm, you think this came off in one blow? Look at the ragged edge of the cut. That was not caused by a clean sweep of a sword's blade. This was _hacked_ at with multiple blows. That means intent. Vicious intent to hurt this goblin.” She made a chopping motion with one hand.

“I move that this council should not continue without representatives and witnesses from Autumn present.”

Both sides had a great deal to say about this, but the Summer King backed up his daughter and together they wrangled their way through the complaints and objections.

Marianne remained calm. She did not shout, she argued with a cool firmness that would not be overridden by something so weak as shouted opposition. Inside she might be burning, her heart on fire, but outside she was calm. Outside she was everything the Summer Heir should be.

But she could not look at Roland.

 

* * *

 

Two corpses lay in front of the throne, uncovered, awaiting the Autumn King's inspection. Entering the throne room the king beheld the bodies before the throne, a small company of soldiers led by Captain Brutus, and a collection of advisors being shouted down by Griselda.

“No, we are _not_ going to declare war on two kingdoms before my boy even gets here!” She crackled, “He's still king so far as I know and I'm his mother so I definitely outrank _you_. Oh, there's my boy-king now!” She trotted over to her son and, spotting Elvira coming in behind him, smirked at her son and elbowed him in the leg. She could not reach high enough to elbow him in the ribs. “Unavoidably detained, eh?”

“Not now, mother.” The king said, instilling the statement with only a ghost of his usual exasperation. He hadn't the energy to spare for it right now. His head was already swimming with confusion and now he had to deal with two very dead corpses and a group of altogether too lively advisors who descended on him, all talking at once:

“Finally! We are in the middle of a crisis and the king is nowhere to be found! We have been attacked by Summer and Winter and the only reason they had an opportunity to was because you insisted we leave the border open for marauders to come and go as they please.”

“We must close the border at once! As they were in your father's time.”

“We must strike back and show them we will not be intimidated. Sound a call to arms and march immediately.”

“We will do neither of these things until we know what happened.” The king said, sounding more steady than he felt, keenly aware that Elvira was watch all of this, watching him. “If any of you would care to enlighten me?”

 

* * *

 

“But it isn't supposed to wear off.”

“It just _did_.”

“Oh,” Elvira said, “Oh, I'm so glad!” And she threw her arms around the king's neck, hugging him tight. As she was much shorter than him this caused the king to be pulled forward and off balance, his arms going out to wave feebly for balance, wings flapping once or twice.

“What?” His face was slack and voice flat.

Elvira just squeezed him tighter and started talking very fast: “I knew it was a mistake the moment I did it! Can you ever forgive me? I was just so afraid you wouldn't like me back. I've regretted it ever since.”

“Get . . . get off.” Some life came back into his face and he pushed her back and leaned away, staff held to his chest. “I don't understand.”

“You've just _got_ to understand!” Elvira stepped forward and the king swiftly stepped back, “I made a terrible mistake, but I can fix it. We can start over and build something real.”

“You . . . I don't understand. When did you . . . why did you . . . stop, just _stop_.” He put out one huge hand when she came toward him, blue eyes looking lost, “No, please, don't. I don't have . . . I can't do this—they're waiting for me. Just . . . come with me and we can talk later.”

* * *

  
  


There had been no time to question Elvira but all the way back to the castle she had apologized and offered explanations. That she had liked him and wanted to win his affections. That she had justed wanted to be loved. That she was sorry the moment she had done it and was glad it had broken.

The King had walked back to the castle, trying to ignore the churning in his stomach and the ache in his heart. When had she used the potion on him? How long had he been making a fool of himself? Had it all be fake? Had there been any moment where he had actually had real feelings for her? How much of what he had thought, said, done in this past months, how much had been real? How much had been the effects of the love potion at work? Did he still care for her now? His head was too full of things for him to sort it all out.

And this was not important right now. A king's broken heart was not important when his people were dead and dying. So he forced his thoughts away from Elvira's betrayal and focused on Summer's supposed treachery.

“This situation is too perilous to rely on the decision of a child.” One of the advisors asserted, “King or not, he isn't of age. A council should be appointed to take responsibility during the crisis.”

“Hey, now.” Griselda piped in, “If you'll take your noses out of the air and look down you'll see little old me down here. Why go to all that fuss with councils and committees when you've got a regent right here?”

“You may have been married to the king, Griselda,” One of the advisors said patronizingly, “But you have never ruled.”

Griselda tossed her head and adjusted the circlet of gray rocks over her hair, “I'm still one up on you, sweetie, since you've never ruled _or_ been married. The only way you'd get to form your little council of war is if my little mushroom voluntarily relinquishes his power to you.”

“It would be for the best,” the advisors turned back to the king, taking up this new tactic, “Many of us have dealt with such situations before and know how things ought to be handled. You are still so inexperienced and not even of age.”

One year and two months shy of eighteen, the Autumn King thought. As if a year would make a difference. If he _was_ of age right now they would have some other reason to relieve him of his burden of kingship. “No, that's not going to happen. What _is_ going to happen is that we will gather the witnesses for interviews and send word to Summer.”

And advisor made a noise of disgust and said, “Can't _you_ talk some sense into him?” She was talking to someone behind the king and he turned to see who the advisor meant. Elvira was standing there, hands clasped at her waist and looking serene and lovely. When she saw the king's eyes were on her she glanced at the advisor and gave a tiny shake of her head.

The Autumn King's head snapped around in time to see the advisor's reaction of bewilderment and alarm. Puzzle pieces slotted together in the king's mind and a question he had not yet asked was answered. The sad, heavy confusion that had lain over him since the love potion evaporated was burned away in a flash of anger.

“Ah.” The king jaw worked back and forth while words piled up on his tongue, desperate to be said. “An excellent attempt, Elvira.” He heard his Rs rolling and knew his accent was slipping. He tried so hard to suppress the brogue he had inherited from his father, avoid drawing further comparisons between himself and the previous Autumn King. “An excellent attempt. It had not occurred to me how you might have gotten your hands on a love potion. It would have to be imported, wouldn't it? There is no one left in Autumn with the skills to brew it. But if you take into account,” He looked at the advisors, singling out the one who had addressed Elvira, “certain _other_ factors . . .”

“Psst!” Griselda tugged on the end of the staff to get her son's attention, “You really seem to be on a roll and I hate to butt in, but what in the swamp is going on?”

“It appears we have a _conspiracy_ on our hands, mother. She,” He swept the head of his staff toward Elvira and she gave a small start, picking at her fingers, “Dusted me with a love potion and _they_ ,” He rounded on the advisors, “gave it to her. Fed her lines and had her manipulate me into following their whims.”

It was so easy to see, now that his eyes were cleared of that horrible rosy haze. Elvira had always been there, ready to talk about laws and policy, quick to offer helpful suggestions, recommend a different course of action. And he, the Autumn King, so in love with her, so desperate to please her, took her word as law and enacted her suggestions without a second thought.

“Love potion?” Griselda shrieked, “You little _hussy_!” She charged right for Elvira, but her son flipped the end of his staff in front of her, barring her way. She grabbed it and leaned over, limbs flailing, “Snake in the grass! Treacherous minx!”

“Leave her alone. She's not important.” These words were meant to be hurtful and Elvira felt the jab. Her nervous expression vanished and was replaced by one of outrage. The King managed to restrain his mother from attacking Elvira, but now she turned on the advisors.

“Why? And don't bother playing innocent. It's easy enough to guess which of you were in on it.” And her glare focused on several goblins who had been particularly outspoken against the idea of open borders. They shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.

One of them spoke, in an explosive burst, “Something had to be done!” The advisor curled her stubby fingers into claws and shook them with agitated energy, “Someone had to take charge! With this overgrown _child_ sitting on the throne, daydreaming of making friends with the fairies. Ignoring the dangers, neglecting his duties, bringing us all to ruin! And now it's begun—Summer has made their move, taken advantage of our vulnerable state and attacked. All because a little boy is too weak of face reality. Such a disappointment as heir to his father.”

There was a muttering of agreement.

The king's heart had sunk lower and lower throughout the advisor's tirade and it plunged to subterranean levels at this sound of agreement. He had known—of course he had known—what they thought of him, but he had not know that _everyone_ thought the same. A thought lurked in the back of his head, asking the king if he was so sure they were wrong. Weren't there two dead goblins laying on the floor between him and the advisors because of him?

A heavy hand was laid on his shoulder.

It was not every goblin who could reach the king's shoulders but Brutus was one of them—huge, round, tall and sturdy as an oak tree. Captain of the Autumn Guard, he had gained and kept hold of the position by being simply unkillable and surprisingly sharp underneath his slow manner.

“What do you want us to do with them, sire?” Brutus grumbled through rows of long, sharp fangs. The king was aware that the company of soldiers had moved from across the throne room to stand behind their king. Glancing down he saw that Stuff and Thang had appeared and were standing on either side of him, both carrying sticks and wearing comically determined expressions.

“Nothing.” The king said.

“Weakness.” Hiss an advisor.

“Nothing, _for now_.” The king stepped toward them, bent forward, wings spread out full behind him, shoulder plates spread out, staff held ready to strike. “There is a crisis to deal with, in case you have not noticed the corpses at your feet!”

“And who put them there?” Spat an advisor.

The head of the Autumn King's staff connected with the advisor's skull and the goblin was thrown across the room to sprawl on the steps of the throne. After the terrible crack! of the blow there was only silence in the throne room.

“You all want a king like my father?!” He roared at his mute audience, “Is that what you want? If it is, I can order your executions right now—that is what he would have done! You rage against me for not being my father and then count on my mercy to save you from the ax! This crisis will be dealt with and then you will be dealt with and we shall all find out how much like my father I really am!”

The advisors scrambled to leave the room and organize the investigation of the border incident, tripping over each other to get out of the room. Someone picked up the advisor who had been knocked over and dragged him out of the room, feet trailing on the floor. Griselda was chortling, saying, “I do love it when you sound like your dad.” She patted his hand then hurried off to shoo the stranglers off to their duties.

A soft hand slipped into the King's and he looked down at Elvira. She looked up at him, sad and fearful. “Please, you won't punish me, will you? They made me do it—forced me.”

The sweet voice and false affection set the Autumn King's teeth on edge and he snatched his hand away, throwing his arm up in a guarding gesture in front of his chest. He was utterly repulsed by her, her beauty, and the hundred lying memories he had of her. “Get away from me.” He hissed. “I'll not take revenge, but I'll not forgive you either. If I might make a suggestion of my own, for a change, I'd advise you to leave court.”

Elvira's mouth turned down sharply and her eyes hardened. Shaking back her ears she walked with graceful strides toward the door. Turning back for a moment she tossed a parting shot before she left, “As if I could have really loved _you_.”

And she was gone.

 

* * *

  
  


When the council broke up for the day Roland followed Marianne out of the room and grabbed her hand, pulling her up short. “What was that in there?” He demanded, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear, “Are you accusing me of lying?”

“Captain Roland.” Marianne said, her voice cold and hard, “Let go of my hand.”

He looked at her expression. He let go of her hand.

“I have accused you of nothing. I am just trying to get to the truth. The stories don't match with the facts so someone is lying or mistaken. I don't know who. We'll have to wait and see what Autumn says.”

“But, darling, surely you don't think I would lie? I have no reason to.” He held out a hand, his face going soft with an appealing smile, “You must be all strung out after that mess in front of the castle. A girl shouldn't have to see that sort of thing.”

“I do not have enough information to draw a conclusion. If we can put aside the subject for now? You will come to my study, there is something we need to discuss.” It was not a request and she began walking without seeing if he was coming. He paused in disbelief at her abruptness then had to job to catch up with her.

Roland loved an audience, Marianne knew, and she would not give him the satisfaction of playing out this drama before witnesses. Face stiff with suppressed emotion, she led him into the study and shut the door behind them. “Sit.” She indicated the chair in front of the desk.

“Sweetheart, what's going on? I'm not really mad with you, I'm just puzzled.”

“Sit.” She put her hand on his shoulder and shoved him into the chair, his armor clanking with the abrupt movement. Sitting down behind her desk she pulled out the packet of letters and set it in front of her. Looking right into his bright, green eyes she asked:

“Roland, do you know a girl named Adeline?”

Panic was plain across his handsome face for a split second. But no longer than that. A vague smile replaced it and he asked, “Still picking out bridesmaids, dearest? Thought you'd finished with that list long ago.”

Marianne took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Yes or no, Captain Roland.”

“Uh, maybe?” He twirled his finger through his hair and shrugged, “You meet so many people at court and on patrol, they all sort of blur together. Can't say it rings any bell in particular. What's this all about, my lovely lady?”

There, she had given him his chance. A chance to confess, to tell his side of the story. Whatever he could had done and didn't do. Marianne found she was clutching her letter opener in one white-knuckled fist. With great care she loosened her fingers and set the letter opener down beside her pen.

And she told him. Calm, her voice steady, she told him of Adeline's visit, of the letters, “Rather condemning and very familiar. Some of the ones you wrote me are nearly identical.” And she waited for his reaction.

Roland dropped to his knees in front of the desk with a metallic bang and grabbed Marianne's hands, staring up at her with his face arranged in beaming earnestness. “Darling, I made a terrible mistake with that girl. It was a moment of weakness.”

“Only a moment?” She looked at the stack of letters with a raised eyebrow.

“But she means nothing to me—it's you that I love. Wholly and truly, I swear to you--” He went on in this vein for some time before Marianne interrupted him, her voice still emotionless.

“Captain Roland, remove you hands. You do not have my permission to touch me.”

He did, obviously disconcerted that his display of remorse was not making an impression on the princess. If she would cry, or shout, he could work with that, but he just kept running up against a blank wall and knocking himself down.

Standing up she came around the desk and looked down at him, still on his knees in front of the desk.

“I'm the one you love? You think that forgives your sins? Roland, I think you have mistaken your position. When I decided to make you my consort I had found you an intelligent, charming man, pleasant to look. In all ways you appeared to be a suitable candidate. But do not mistake my previous regard for your suitability as some deep, romantic passion. The moment you were revealed as less than worthy our engagement came to an end.”

“One indiscretion and you condemn me completely? C'mon, Marianne--” He jumped to his feet and reached out as if to embrace her. Her look of cold contempt made him stop.

“It is not just your infidelity. Your treatment of Adeline is reprehensible. She is a sweet and lovely person who you took advantage of—using her like a toy to be played with and discarded. She told me everything, Roland. How her letters were left unanswered from the moment you found out she was pregnant with your child.”

Roland grimaced. He had really been hoping that wouldn't come up. “I suppose you want me to do the decent thing and marry her, then? You'd sacrifice our happiness and sentence both of us to lifelong loneliness, my darling Marianne?”

“I don't know if Adeline would consent to have you.”

“Angel, you can't really tell me that you don't love me?”

“Yes I can: I don't love you.”

She didn't. She hadn't. She couldn't have, Marianne insisted to herself, watching him leave, his shoulders theatrically slumped. There was no way she could be so completely deceived that she would love . . . love _that_.

Again and again she told herself this but her heart ached and burned as if to burn a hole inside her chest and leave her hollow and empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, my word, breaking hearts is exhausting work! And I haven't even gotten around to answering important questions like:
> 
> Why did the love potion wear off? What happened at the border? When will the author admit whose severed hand it obviously is that Marianne is tossing around this chapter? And new questions: How long before Marianne's suppressed emotions finally explode? How long before she decks Roland?
> 
> Both Bog and Marianne have to keep their game faces on right now, no time to indulge in a good cry, there are dead bodies on the floor and severed arms on the table that need looking at.
> 
> And poor Adeline. This isn't the end of her story. Maybe she'll get to deck Roland too.


	10. Chapter 9: Theft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negotiations between kingdoms no sooner begin than they break down.
> 
> Also, Bog and Marianne continue to stubbornly bottle up their emotions.

Marianne walked from her study back to the playroom in the cool shade of twilight. There would be no more councils until Autumn contacted them. Hopefully that would be soon, Marianne thought, because she needed a project right now more than she ever had before. Part of her life, her future, had just crashed down around her and she needed some new place to flee to, to try and build something faster than it crumbled.

It had all been so simple. Lots of problems to solve, things to do, work to be done, but the big picture had been simple. Marry a charming, handsome man who would be her partner in life and ruling. Forge a lasting alliance between two realms, build understanding between two peoples. In the past year she had built her life around these two things, patterned herself around them. Now a support had been ripped out from her life and everything was tilting toward the gap.

Marianne shifted things around in her mind, trying to regain balance before everything tumbled down. There were so many charming, handsome, _decent_ men in the world, she would surely find another. It would be easy, easy to cut Roland out of her life and pretend he had never been. But as she walked down the dim corridors, stride steady and shoulders straight, she remembered the pressure of Roland's hands on hers. How they had danced together at that Summer Ball—not even a year ago. How he had run his hand through her hair and praised it, tugging on her ribbons in playful teasing.

She quickened her steps as much as she could without allowing herself to run. The playroom door was in sight and she greeted the guards outside, exchanging empty pleasantries and inconsequential remarks about the day

The family quarters were designed around a central room, accessible to all the young royalty from their own rooms. The playroom, it was called, had been built generations ago and refurbished many times throughout the years. It was a place for the young royalty to play and entertain their friends before they were old enough to make use of the more formal rooms. Marianne's earliest memories were focused around the playroom, its mountain of toys, and the rare presence of both her parents in the same room at the same time. Outside of the playroom she, as a little girl, had been taken with her mother on visits to fine ladies, or to sit in her father's study and watch him work, but these excursions seldom had her parent's cross paths. Only in the playroom did she see them both. Happy, relaxed, enjoying the company of their family. And over the years the family had grown with the additions of Dawn, Lysander, and finally, Iona. Then, shortly after Iona, a subtraction, upon the death of the Summer Queen.

Closing the door of the playroom behind her, Marianne turned the bolt and engaged a complicated lock that required certain steps in a certain sequence to open from either outside or inside. For the playroom was not just a convenient gathering spot for the royal family, it was a safe room. In times of trouble the young royals had immediate access to the room and once they were all inside it could be sealed. Certain levers hidden in the architecture of the room would be pulled and mechanisms would bring metal shudders sliding over the windows and doors, turning the room into a tiny fortress. Well, Marianne's father had described it as a fortress, but she had always thought of it as a safe. Once inside the princesses and prince would be stranded from everyone and everything, unable to leave until someone from the outside released them.

There were fewer toys in the playroom now than in days gone by. Aside from Iona's hoard of playthings only the most cherished of childhood baubles remained. Nowadays the room was dominated by desks: Lysanders drafting table, Dawn's writing desk full of invitations and stationary, Marianne's desk and small box of personal papers she did not want to keep in her study.

Lysander was at his drafting table when Marianne came in, his sketchbook open before him. Marianne looked at it and saw no drawings, only random penciled lines scratched across the white pages. While she watched Lysander drew his pencil across the paper to mark out a straggling line, as if there were no energy or will left to direct his fingers.

Dawn and Sunny were sitting in the window seat with Iona fast asleep across their laps, wings folded over her like blankets. The elf and the fairy that formed this impromptu bed were shoulder-to-shoulder and half asleep themselves. They roused themselves upon Marianne's entrance and Dawn asked in a hoarse, tried whisper:

“How bad is it?”

“Is he dead?” Lysander asked, voice cracking, “Is there going to be a war?”

“It wasn't his arm.” Marianne told them, “So far as I know the Autumn King is fine and there are absolutely no grounds for war. Here, let me put Iona to bed.” She scooped up the little princess and took her to her own rooms, settling her under the covers and setting out a small night light. Returning she raised her voice from a whisper to more conversational tones.

“The Winter Guard lost a soldier and several are injured. None too badly. One goblin is hurt, maybe dead, we don't know. Everything is still being pieced together. But everything is fine. Fine.”

“Are _you_ fine?” Dawn asked, “You sound upset.”

“Long day.” Marianne said briefly, “Long, hard day.”

“Can I do anything? I mean, about what happened?” Dawn persisted, “You've got councils and stuff, but what can I do?”

“If you're up to going visiting tomorrow you could soothe some of our guests by being light-hearted and sparkling. I'll probably be stuck in the council rooms all day. C'mere, you.” Marianne came up behind her brother and hugged him. “Everything is fine—I've been seeing to it.”

"Our savior Marianne comes through again!” Sunny laughed and then yawned. Dawn managed a giggle. Marianne tried not to wince at the good-hearted joke. She couldn't even see through Roland, what else had she missed? How many holes were there in her defense and how much was slipping through? There couldn't be any holes, there just couldn't, she had to protect her family, her people, her kingdom.

Sunny yawned and set everyone else off when he did. When they finally finished Marianne said, “We should all go to bed soon. Oh, Sunny, I talked to your boss and told him I needed you for running errands today which is why you weren't around. I also told him I'd need you tomorrow. I thought you might need a day off.”

“Oh, could you come around with me?” Dawn asked, “Those Winter ladies always have whole troops of people following them around—everything from doctors to tailors—and they always make _remarks_ about me being alone. This time I planned to get some of my friends to come and pretend they're all some sort of professional and watch the Winter ladies be too polite to call us liars. You could be my personal bodyguard, or private chef, or a food-taster.”

“I volunteer for food-taster. We can make grave remarks about how I was trained from childhood to detect poisons and it stunted my growth. And I get to eat!”

“Sleep before that.” Marianne yawned again. “But before that how about the Rumor of the Week?”

“Yes, yes!” Dawn woke up a bit and clapped her hands, bouncing in her seat.

From her box of papers Marianne found an envelope marked with the seal of Autumn. Somewhere along the way Marianne and the Autumn King had begun to mention to each other the rumors they heard about each other's kingdoms. This had led to them denying, contradicting, or confirming these tidbits of information and generally laughing at the nonsense people came up with. The royal family had been in stitches over the idea that fairies had their “magic fairy powers” stolen by fish. The Autumn King written that his mother laughed on and off all day after he passed on the rumor that goblins courted by hitting each other with sticks.

“He says that someone told him that fairies need a constant source of light to stay active because we are actually plants.” Marianne read.

“Plants?” Lysander huffed, “Aren't they the ones with talking mushrooms?”

“Are we specific kinds of plants, like daisies or buttercups, or are we an entirely different sort of flora? Because I could be a daffodil.” Dawn gestured to her yellow hair, “Marianne could be a violet.”

“I'm not purple.” Marianne pulled her own hair, “I'm brown.”

“But you look good in purple.”

“What about me?” Sunny asked.

“Sunflower.” Was Dawn's prompt respond.

“But those are huge.” Sunny pointed out, “And I am not.”

“You are an adorable miniature sunflower.” Dawn hugged him.

“You just picked that because it matches my name. Shoddy work, you lazy daffodil.”

“What about me?” Lysander prompted.

Dawn gave a huge yawn. “Something . . . something white and thoughtful. Give me a minute . . .”

“Sleep on it.” Marianne put away the letter and got up. “Time to shut the windows and say good night.”

“Can Sunny stay and talk a little longer?” Dawn asked, “He can have the couch.”

Marianne dropped a kiss on her sister's forehead. She didn't have to pause to consider the question. Sunny was part of the family—regardless of her father's opinions—and someone she trusted. It was nice to trust someone, especially right now. “Sure, but just for today. Don't stay up too much longer or you'll be wilting in the morning.”

“Are you sure you're okay?” Dawn caught her sister's hand and wove their fingers together. “You looked _exhausted_.”

Marianne took her hand away and went to close her desk up. “I told you, long day.”

The burning in Marianne's heart had dimmed while she had sat with her family and talked, shooed Lysander the unknown plant off to bed, checked the shutters and locks, bid the daffodil and sunflower good night.

Marianne's handmaidens had tidied the rooms as usual and laid out clothes for the princess to wear the next day. Everything was in its place and there was nothing left for Marianne to do but change into night clothes and go to sleep. But the burning intensified with stillness. When she laid down on her side and stared at the dim light of the moon coming through the metal shutters she felt the flames spreading. Radiating from her chest they tore down her arms and legs, burned in her throat, lit her hands with the restless energy of crackling flames.

She had almost married Roland. Almost married _that_. But there was part of her that still wanted to marry him. Marry the man she had thought him to be before today's awful revelations. He wasn't that man, she told herself, that person had never existed and there was nothing to mourn, no reason to be sad. There was work to be done and she hadn't time or thoughts to waste on the matter. Tomorrow she would tell her father that the engagement was off and that would be the end of the matter.

She hugged her arms around herself, drawing up her knees and pulling her wings over her body, trying to ignore the burning and steady her breathing. But her eyes kept popping open and staring at the nearly full moon. In the end she crawled out of bed and sat in the window, peering through the cracks in the shudders at the cool moonlight, hoping it would extinguish the fire and let her sleep.

* * *

  
  


The Autumn King sat upon his throne and gazed at the same moon through the spider-web glass of the ceiling.

His throat was sore from shouting and more than a few of his subjects were sporting new bruises. The castle was humming with the news that the young king was finally getting his act together, acting like a proper king and putting those mossy advisors in their place. Showing some spirit at last. The king didn't feel very spirited right now. What energy he hadn't expended in shouting people into action he had devoted to keeping himself from thinking about conspiracy of Elvira and the advisors.

The witnesses had been interviewed and the injured examined. The key witness of the whole event was unconscious and it was doubtful that he would ever wake up to testify. The king had looked down at his cousin Roderick and seen the stump of the young noble's arm where some Winter or Summer soldier had hacked it off. That had been bad enough to see until Griselda had pointed out that the lost hand was the one on which Roderick had been wearing his father's amber ring.

Giving a grumbling sigh the king leaned his head onto the heels of his hands and felt the feverish heat of his eyes. The only heat about him right now, for otherwise he felt cold and so heavy that he was surprised his wings still lifted him off the ground. Throughout the day it had felt like thorns were growing up out of the ground and wrapping around his legs, pulling him, trapping him into words and actions not of his choosing. Yet they had somehow been the only things to say and do in the circumstances.

Representatives would be sent to Summer in the morning and the results of the meeting would determine what happened next. It _could_ be straightforward and peaceful. Griselda had helped her son hunt up some older goblins who had once served in court but had been uninvolved in politics for years. They had managed to turn up a handful of such people who were open to the idea of reasonable discussion between kingdoms and assemble a delegation. These recruits had no high opinion of their young king, but were sensible and wise enough to dislike the idea of stirring up unnecessary trouble with Summer.

The story of the fight on the border had turned out to be a simple one.

The young goblins at the border had been drinking and this had made their vanity tender. When the soldiers had run into them there had been some petty argument and a brawl. No more malicious than the fights that happened in pubs and taverns every week. It was not an attack, and certainly not sanctioned by either kingdom. Restitution could be made to all injured parties and this unpleasant chapter would be closed. But if the other kingdoms didn't see it that way . . . if Roderick's ring was not returned . . . The Autumn Kingdom would expect their king to respond appropriately and that meant loudly and violently.

The king wished he could return to the previous day. A good day when he had been in love with a wonderful girl and was going to ask her to go to the Summer Ball with him. Elvira would have met the Summer Heir and her fiancé and all four of them would have talked of kingdoms and kinging and ridiculous myths about each other's peoples. He would have asked if he and his people could stay until the next day and tour Summer in the daylight.

At least he could still do that. If all went well he would be seeing the Summer Heir before the week was out. He would still go to the ball, whether or not it was considered appropriate for the Autumn King to do so. He still had a friend.

Yet in the empty throne room, lit only by the pale light of the moon, he felt chilled through and completely alone.

* * *

  
  


Marianne had a tiny hope that the Autumn King would come with the representatives from Autumn, but he was not among them when they arrived early that morning. It would have been reassuring to see him well and in one piece after the matter of the arm.

They arrived without warning, no one even saw them until they were approaching the front of the palace, a bizarre but dignified procession. There were about a dozen goblins dressed in what looked like an official manner and they were accompanied by an armed guard. There were no shining suits of armor for the goblins, just rough shields of bark, a motley assortment of clubs, swords, and spears.

Another first, Marianne observed, Summer receiving an Autumn delegation. This was exactly what she had been working so hard for and now she was too tired and worried to care. Sleep had overcome her at some point but vivid dreams had robbed it of any peace and rest and she woke as the sun rose. Images were still fresh before her eyes and she saw the Autumn King standing in the middle of the dancers at the Summer Ball, his arm sliced off at the elbow and red blood bright on his gray armor. In her dream she had stepped forward, reaching out to help, but Roland had appeared by her side, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her away and the king disappeared among the spinning dancers.

The discussions with the Autumn delegation went well—to the surprise of both sides. It was clear that no one wanted this to be a fracturing point between kingdoms. There were some awkward culture clashes, but they were soon sorted with a little tact and patience. The story was sorted out and it turned out to be a simple tale of drunken youths and overly zealous soldiers.

The maimed goblin was still alive, Marianne was relieved to hear. She could tell the others later. It seemed Autumn agreed with the idea that the the member of the Winter Guard—Oliver—who had died had been the one to cut off the goblin's arm and start the trouble. Seeing as Oliver had died the goblins were mostly satisfied. The maimed goblin had avenged himself. Young Lord Roderick, they had called him, cousin to the king—which nicely explained the family resemblance.

In her state of heavy, itchy-eyed exhaustion Marianne was feeling almost pleased. There seemed to be no more fuel left in her to feed the fire in her heart and it had sunk down to black ashes, dead and cold. A spark of something else flickered into life over the sight of the two kingdoms so reasonably working out their problems. Yes, this was her project, her mission, her hope: uniting two kingdoms in friendship. One pillar of her life was gone, but the other was intact.

The box containing Young Lord Roderick's arm was brought out. Someone had thought to make it a black box and it looked a somber, heavy thing when the Summer King picked it up and gave it to one of the goblin representatives. Accepting it gravely they opened it to check the contents.

That was the moment everything went wrong.

“Where is the ring?” The goblin holding the box was short and with a bird-like beak that clacked when he spoke quickly. Some sort of lichen grew over his hairless head and down one side of his face, almost right up to the corner of his mouth. “Young Lord Roderick was wearing his father's ring on this hand and it is not here now.”

“There was no ring,” Marianne said, “Not when the arm was brought to us. I examined it myself and there was nothing.”

“He was wearing his father's ring, set with amber.” The goblin repeated with emphatic clacks of his beak. “Symbol of his family power and authority, a treasured piece that has been in the family for generations. And it is not here?”

“It wasn't on the hand.” The Summer King echoed his daughter's words, “There are dozens of witnesses to attest to that. Perhaps he had taken it off earlier that day, or it was lost in the fight. None of those present at the incident said anything about a ring of any description. I am sorry it is lost but perhaps we can offer to--”

The goblin's beak clacked and his eyes were hard. “It is not a ring that would be so easily removed or lost and it cannot be replaced or paid for. If it is not found and returned then we cannot come to an accord.”

“There was no ring.” Roland spoke up, “I was witness to the initial encounter and if there was a ring at all I never saw it.”

“Nor did I,” The captain of the Winter guard spoke up, “I arrived just afterwards and examined the body of my man. The goblin was gone but his hand was there and I saw no ring on it.”

“So.” the beaked goblin stood up. “You do not only rob the bodies of our fallen but you lie about it.” He snatched up the black box in his taloned hands and handed it off to another member of his party. Then he seized the drafts for the restitution agreements that he was to have taken to the Autumn King for approval. “You don't even have the patience for young Roderick to die to desecrate his grave!”

Razor-edged talons shredded the paper in moments and a storm of white flakes whirled in front of the muted, earthy tones of the goblin delegation. Summer and Winter were silent, stunned by this outburst and more than a little afraid.

“You have killed our people, crippled our youth, stolen our amber! The ring is not lost—it cannot be lost. When it was made enchantments were bound into it, one of them to prevent simple lose or easy theft. But you hack off the boy's arm and return it without the ring! What does that tell me, eh? What does that tell me? It tells me Roderick was attacked for the ring! Whoever has it—Winter or Summer—best produce it! Otherwise we will take immediate and serious steps to convince you that returning the ring would spare you a great deal of pain.”

“Do you threaten us?” A Summer official demanded, “Here, before witnesses?”

“What do I care who hears my warnings? Return the ring or face the results of your theft.”

“Do you speak for the Autumn King when you say this?” Marianne had shot out of her chair and stood, her wings a blaze of color, spread out in the light of the setting sun. “Or do you speak for yourself alone?”

“I speak for Autumn. I speak only of what is inevitable if you do not return your ill-gotten gains. If you continue in this stubborn denial there will be only one path left open to us. Return the ring or we will do what we must to get it back.”

Marianne had been wrong. The burning in her heart had not died, but banked itself under the ashes. Now it blazed it life again and the pain of it made her want to scream. Scream that at the Autumn delegation that they did not have their ring! Why would they break off negotiations over such a trifle! She wanted to scream that it wasn't fair, it wasn't fair! She wanted to scream and lash out, with her sword and fists, and beat back this threat to the foundations of her life.

But she was the Summer Heir. She stood there while the rest of the council remained seated, and she stood still, her hands at her sides, her wings forming a glowing backdrop behind her and she did not do any of the foolish things she burned to do. The goblins turned to go but they saw the Summer Heir and her fearless eyes, glittering with contained rage and thought that there was at least one fairy with some backbone.

Autumn's delegation was gone in what seemed a mere instance, the torn bits of paper still settling across the table and floor. Somewhere outside the palace they vanished and could not be found to be reasoned with or appealed to. The witnesses were interviewed again. People were sent to search along the border. Nothing was found. The testimony remained unchanged.

A message was sent to Autumn, telling of their attempts to locate the ring and their failure to do so.

That night the young Winter Heir disappeared from his locked rooms in the middle of the night. The doors were still locked when his bedroom was opened and found empty.

There was another message from Autumn but it was only a reiteration of the same demand: Return the ring. Or else. 

* * *

 

“There's no proof that the Autumn King took the prince.” Marianne whispered to herself in the dark. “It might not have been him.” But nearby her siblings lay asleep on mattresses dragged into the playroom. After word had reached them of the Winter Prince's disappearance Marianne insisted they all sleep in the same room. She said it was safety in numbers, easier for the guards to protect. But it was so Marianne could watch her siblings herself and be sure they were there and safe.

The night after the Winter Heir disappeared she sat in a chair, back to the wall, her siblings all in view. She planted the point of her sheathed sword in front of herself and leaned on the pommel, watching the shadows for some unknown danger. How the young prince had been taken no one knew and she could not guard against any particular danger so she must guard against everything.

That first night, after she had dozed off where she sat with her sword, she had woken suddenly as if by a noise. The peaceful breathing of the Summer children was regular—Iona had not been snoring just then—and no one had moved. Yet Marianne felt that something foreign had entered the room and she stood up, heart pounding, snatched her blade from its sheath and swung it into the shadows.

“I won't let you touch them!” She hissed into the darkness. “Stay away from them! Stay away from them!”

Was that a rustling movement across the room? Were her light-starved eyes creating illusions or was there a glimmer of something there? Marianne pointed her sword toward it, thinking it was as just as good a target as the next patch of shadows.

“So much as lay a claw on them and I will have your head on a _stick_! Do you hear me? _Do you hear me_?”

A flash of blue, had that been a flash of blue? A set of eyes catching some stray beam of moonlight that managed to filter through the defenses? Please, don't let it have been blue eyes! Sword aimed at the possible illusion Marianne fell into a defensive stance and tried to hear past the blood singing in her ears, listening for the scrape of clawed feet across the wooden floor. Earlier that day she had ripped out all the carpeting so that any intruding footsteps would not be muffled.

If she was really seeing those two points of blue in the darkness they had not moved. The flames that filled Marianne sparked restlessly at this enforced stillness, this uncertain standoff. If the wraith would just make a move to attack, engage her, then she could _do_ something. The flames in her throat roared through her mouth and escaped in a choked cry:

“Blast your eyes, _do something_!”

Bright yellow light blinded her eyes and Marianne threw up her arm to shield her face from this unexpected attack.

Light glowed from the floor.

“Marianne! What are you doing?” Dawn had taken the cover off of Iona's night light and now looked up at her sister standing over the mattresses, sword in hand and expression wild. “Who were you talking to?”

“I thought I heard something.” Spangles of light dancing in front of her eyes Marianne cast her gaze around the room. There was no one standing where she had seen the blue eyes glowing in the dark. Blood still pounding, she took in everything, searching for some sign of intrusion or danger. Had Iona's doll been on the floor before they went to bed? Or had it been knocked down in the dark? Those scratches on the floor, were they new? Did the shutters rattle, were they loose as if something had hastily replaced them?

“There's nothing, you big silly.” Dawn groaned, dropping her head back into her pillow, “Put that sword away before Iona wakes up and wants to play too. Come back to bed.”

Marianne checked the locks and bolts and returned to her chair to continue her vigil.

There were no more strange sounds or phantom eyes that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, let me give credit for the Rumor of the Week to:  
> http://humanityinahandbag.tumblr.com/post/111917003106/based-on-the-headcanon-about-them-knowing  
> http://lazytrickster.tumblr.com/post/111963280900/based-on-the-headcanon-about-them-knowing  
> http://artbymaureen.tumblr.com/post/112889552351/more-scappy-doodles-in-comic-format-gasp-so-i  
> And anybody else on tumblr who contributed to the idea of cultural misunderstandings. If I used your idea and did not credit you, lemme know.
> 
> What's the deal with the ring, right? Roderick just causes so much trouble. Was that Bog trying to steal one of the Summer babies? All will be revealed in the heartbreaking climax of the next chapter!
> 
> Big things happening then. Roland gets decked, bottled emotions explode, you know, fun stuff. Oh, also, Bog and Marianne might actually meet face to face again. It's only been six chapters since the last time they spoke, you know.
> 
> *clenches fist* I just have to hang on through the next chapter and then things will start looking up and I can write happy stuff again.


	11. Chapter 10: Fire and Thorns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Autumn King and Summer Heir meet as current events conclude.

The Summer Ball was not canceled. It had never been canceled and the Summer King insisted it never would be so long as he had anything to say about it. To call off the celebration would be admitting defeat and they could not give Autumn the satisfaction of seeing them intimidated. Besides, the king added, everyone needed some release from the tension building up in the Summer Kingdom.

Marianne came into the ballroom in a floating blue and white dress that Dawn had picked out, white flowers braided into her hair. She dutifully made her rounds in the ballroom and observed that the tension was not at all eased. The careful pattern of the dancing over the polished floor, the polite conversations around the perfectly arranged centerpieces on the tables . . . it was all forced. All the panic and fear was not alleviated, only suppressed. No one knew what to talk about so they made empty remarks about the food and the weather.

The Winter Queen had made a brief appearance for the sake of courtesy but she had disappeared after only a few minutes, hurrying back to her rooms to resume her efforts to locate her missing son. Dawn had danced with several nice young men and then abruptly disappeared. Marianne hunted her down and found her hiding with Sunny behind a potted fern near the kitchens.

“Oh, Marianne.” Dawn said when they were discovered, “If I've got to listen to one more comment about the moon being bright I'll push my dance partner into the fountain. I can't take _not_ mentioning the poor little Winter Prince. All this pretending that everything is fine . . . I-I'll do something disgraceful, I know I will.”

“This is the most depressing party I've ever seen.” Sunny put in, “And I've never thought much of your fairy dances to begin with. You're not even allowed to shout or sing. But tonight has reached new lows.”

“Elf parties sound much more fun.” Marianne agreed, “I wish we could run away to one of those instead. I could do with some shouting”

“Join us?” Dawn offered, scooting closer to Sunny to make room for Marianne on their ledge. “Even the Summer Heir needs a break. Or are you looking for Roland?”

Marianne had not yet told anyone except her father about Roland. Everyone knew the engagement announcement was being postponed in light of recent events, but that was all. There was just so much to worry about, she didn't want to deal with well-meant sympathy on top of that. Poor thing, people would say, had a bad disappointment. There would be endless gossip and speculation about what had happened and any number of hinting remarks, both cruel and kind.

“No.” Marianne said, “Just checking on you. Are you going to hide here all evening?”

“I'm going to go into the kitchens and see if they'll let me help make dessert and lick off the spoons. And Sunny has to go back before they notice he's run off again.”

There were guards outside all the entrances to the kitchen and it was as well protected as the ballroom. “Good idea. Someone ought to have some fun. Tell me or dad before you go anywhere else, okay?”

That was Dawn accounted for. Marianne went up to the bedrooms and checked for the third time that evening that Lysander was still painting at his easel and Iona still defending her play-fortress from an army of stuffed animals. Some of the toys were draped with red ribbons which Iona explained represented, “Bloody carnage.”

Once more Marianne went down to the ballroom, that empty, glittering place, and made her rounds. A few polite remarks to the most important guests and a stiff dance or two with gentlemen she could not managed to politely ignore. It was important that she be seen. Not that she do anything, but merely be present. So once she had done that she decided if she disappeared for a little while no one would notice.

The gardens were cool and empty, brilliantly lit by the full moon. At last she could breathe and just _be_. For a few minutes she wandered alone through the flowers, inhaling their sweet perfume. For the moment her anxiety subsided and for the first time in days she felt herself relax a bit, the knots in her shoulder easing.

“Marianne? Marianne, darling, is that you?”

All the tension surged back up inside Marianne and the fire in her heart roared back to life at the sound of Roland's voice. She thought of hiding, but he had already seen her and would not doubt follow her if she tried to fly away.

“Marianne, what are you doing by yourself, it isn't safe!” Roland trotted up, moonlight gleaming off his shiny green armor. The chest plate of his armor was decorated with his family crest—a squirrel—with its outline picked out in green gems and the squirrel's eye filled with a large yellow stone. It glittered balefully at Marianne in the moonlight.

She hated that Roland was right. She was the Summer Heir and times were dangerous, she shouldn't be wandering alone out in the open. “I was just going back inside.” She began to do just that. The cold metal of Roland's armored hand wrapped around her upper arm. Without thinking she tore herself free and spun around into a fighting stance. “I told you before, captain, that you do not have my permission to touch me!”

“Hey now, girl! I've been trying to see you for days and you keep running off. I had to do something to get you to stand still for five minutes.”

“There is nothing more to be said.”

“You still haven't listened to my side of the story—not properly. That Adeline, she isn't the sweet girl you think she is.”

“Roland if you do not leave me alone I will march right back into that ballroom and tell everyone our engagement is off and _why_. Or better yet, let me get a sword and I will _show_ you how much I want to be left alone.”

“Don't be so dramatic. Playing around with swords, what a silly idea, you'd get yourself hurt.”

“Oh, it would be _me_ getting hurt.” Roland would have known Marianne wasn't bluffing if he had ever bothered to take her up on her open invitation to come spar with her. But he never had, always giving some jesting excuse about refusing to fight a beautiful lady.

“Listen, darling,” He reached out again. “Be _reasonable_.”

Fire lanced through her arm and down into her fist. One lightning fast movement and Captain Roland was sprawled across the lawn, staring up at the moon and feeling a throbbing begin in his jaw. Marianne left him there, running deeper into the garden to lose herself before he got up and followed. _Be reasonable_. She was so sick of being reasonable! Everything around her was so unreasonable but she was still supposed to stick to the rules, follow the pattern.

In her blind fury she did not look where she was going and only a few dozen yards from where she had left Roland she crashed face-first into something hard and warm. It gave way a little when she smashed into it, but did not fall over. Stars swimming in front of her eyes, Marianne put up her hands to steady herself and discover what she had careened into. One hand felt the cloth of a shirtfront, other other wrapped around an arm encased in armor. Not cold metal armor like Roland's, but warm, living armor. Sight clearing, she looked up—quite a ways up—into startled blue eyes.

“You!” She gaped at the Autumn King. They stood there for a moment, her hand still on his shirtfront and his hands on her shoulders from when he had automatically reached out to steady her.

Contrary to everything she had thought and felt in the past few days Marianne was filled with a rush of gladness at the sight of those blue eyes. They were the eyes of a friend, a friend she had been looking forward to seeing again. The Autumn King had come the Summer Ball—late again—but he was here! He would not have come if he had kidnapped the Winter Prince. He had not done it!

“Ah!” Marianne realized how close they were standing and she backed up and step and nervously tucked her hair behind her ear. “I didn't think you were coming. I thought . . .”

“Um.” When Marianne stepped away the Autumn King brought his hands together and tapped his fingers together in a restless way, eyes darting to the side. Marianne saw his staff laying on the grass, the amber at the head dancing with golden light, strangely brilliant even under the light of the full moon. He must have dropped it when she crashed into him.

“You're late.” Marianne said, unable to keep from grinning.

The goblin king smiled too, a sudden little smile accompanied by a tiny breath of laughter. It faded and he looked surprised at himself. It was the first time she had seen him smile. He made a nervous movement to scratch the back of his neck and at the same moment Marianne reached to tuck her hair behind her ear again. Making eye contact with each other they both stopped halfway there, smiled, and let their hands fall back to their sides, gazes still locked.

It was on the tip of Marianne's tongue to ask the Autumn King to skip the party and come to her study so they could talk. Talk about what happened on the border, about who could have taken the Winter Heir, and maybe even have time to discuss the Rumor of the Week. Together they could sort everything out and end this terrible fear that the kingdom was plagued with. She could finally ask him what his first name was. He never signed it on his letters and she had decided to wait to ask him in person. She was just wondering if there was a chair anywhere in the palace that he could fit his long frame in comfortably when there was movement behind her.

Summer Heir and Autumn King finally looked away from each other and turned, tensing at the noise. It was a stumbling, clanking racket of an armored fairy and Marianne caught the drawl of, “Marianne, darling, are you there?” just before Roland appeared from behind a bush.

The captain of the guard stopped dead at the sight of the Autumn King and blinked a few times to bring the faded gray and black figure into focus. “Get back!” Roland scrambled for his sword, missing twice before he got a grip on the hilt and pulled it free, “Get away from my fiancée!”

“Roland!” Marianne cried, “Put that away!”

“I won't let you take my girl like you took that poor little prince!”

“Roland! I said _stop_!” Marianne put herself between Roland and the Autumn King, “I am _ordering_ you!”

Claws pricked through the fabric of Marianne's dress when a hand touched her shoulder and gently guided her out of the way. The Autumn King had picked up its staff and she could now see that the amber strung among the filigree at the head was glowing independently of the moonlight, casting its own light over a small circle of the garden.

In response the golden eye of the squirrel on Roland's armor lit up.

* * *

  
  


Roderick woke up two days before the Summer Ball.

“Bet you'd thought that was the end of me, right?” He grinned his green smile at the Autumn King from his sickbed, “How mad is my father, I wonder? Ready to disinherit me—again—I shouldn't wonder. No blaming the old gob, not after the fool I made of myself. Letting those fairy soldiers see me use the ring and then letting them take it off me.”

“I don't think anyone doubts your did your best to stop that.” The Autumn King remarked, looking at the stump where Roderick's right arm used to be.

“You're an old softy, cousin. Say, you're even more squinchy around the eyes than usual. What're you so worried about?”

“We haven't found the ring.” The king stood up and paced up and down in the small space of the room, tapping the head of his staff against his chin, “Either Winter or Summer has it and now you tell me that someone saw you using the amber. How much did they see?”

Roderick looked sheepish. “Kind of . . . everything? Glowing, appearing, everything. Summer must have the ring. I killed the Winter guard, I'm sure, but the one from Summer hacked my arm off. It was my good fortune that he was too busy getting the ring to come after me when I ran for it. Then again, he _was_ terrified. Kept chopping at me even when I was down—almost hysterical.”

“Summer has it? _Blast_.”

“Yeah, Summer. Green armor, no mistake. Yellow tuft on top of his head and all swagger until it came to an actual fight. Hey, does this all mean I won't be able to come to the Summer Ball?”

“Rrragh!” The king growled wordlessly, “They have your family ring, Roderick! I might as well have handed them my staff because if they learn how to use the ring they could come and go through Autumn as they please!”

The king slammed open the door and stalked down the hall, feet clinking against the wooden floor. Roderick blinked at this sudden departure and remarked to no one in particular, “I suppose that was a “no”, then?”

* * *

  
  


“That's not yours.”

The Autumn King growled, his voice blurred an unfamiliar accent. In a flash he pushed Marianne clear and slashed at Roland with his staff. The captain's sword spun through the air, flashing with white light in its rotations. One swift movement and the Autumn King was tearing his claws through the flimsy metal of Roland's formal armor, metallic shrieking filling the air. One quick tug and he pulled his hand away, letting Roland topple backwards against an ornamental column, the captain's head striking the stone and stunning him.

“The gem from Roderick's ring.” Between thumb and forefinger the king held up the piece of amber that had been set in Roland's armor. “Cut from his body and used as decoration!” He clenched the amber in his fist and turned with a snarl to face the Summer Heir.

This was not the shy boy-king that Marianne had met, whose frowns and hunched shoulders were merely nervousness. What stalked toward her now was a furious beast with bared teeth and hate in its eyes. This king, she thought, could easily steal the Winter Heir. The sight of him put down the fire inside her and replaced it with an icy dread. A quick glance told her that Roland's sword was too far away to get to without the king stopping her.

“I didn't know about this. We've all been looking for that ring--”

He answered with another snarl and turned away from her. The light from the staff intensified and Marianne screwed up her eyes against the glare. Something was thrown against her and when the light faded she realized she was holding the nine-year-old prince of Winter. “How? _Why_?” She managed to ask, the cold fear coating her heart began to thaw and the embers of anger reigniting.

“The ring has been returned. I've no more use for the boy.” The king's bent figure was bathed in golden light and his voice was low now. “The border will be sealed and neither of us will worry the other again.” He began to walk away from her, taking the light with him.

“Stay here.” Marianne sat the little boy down on the ground. He was sleepy and did not seem to know where he was or be particularly worried about it. “I'll be right back.”

Marianne ran after the Autumn King. He had gone into part of the garden too thick with tall plants to fly through and she swatted leaves and branches aside, feeling them whipping across her face and wings, dragging through her hair, discarded flowers falling behind her.

“Wait!” She shouted, “Wait!”

She could easily spot him in his golden spotlight. With a burst of speed she tore through a tangle of branches, ripping her dress from their grasp, and her feet overtook the circle of light. The ground changed and she was no longer running on grass, but spongy moss, and she wondered vaguely what part of the garden she had come to. With one hand she reached toward the Autumn King, the other bunched up her skirts and kept her feet free.

The tips of her fingers were nearly touching the rough texture of his arm when darkness slithered across the edges of the light and wrapped around her feet, stopping her dead. Thin, spiked shadows ate away at the circle of light, thorn branches lashed around Marianne's ankles, bit into her arms, snagged her wings. She was pinned down by thorns, frozen in the gesture of reaching out one hand to the Autumn King.

“Don't do this!” She said, “We can still fix this!"

He had stopped walking and now and by the light of the gemstone in his staff Marianne could clearly see the thorn branches all woven all around them in thick black walls with no gaps, no exits. There was still the faint smell of the green lawn of the garden but there was another smell, stronger, of dampness and rotting wood. Thorns dug into her skin and she felt wet drops slide down her arms and legs.

The Autumn King did not turn around, but she saw his hand move, lifting a little.

“Please, talk to me! I swear, we can fix this, this can all be put right! You gave back the prince and you could have taken one of us, but you didn't! I saw you, I saw your eyes—I know it was you in the playroom! Just talk to me, my friend. The amber . . . I never meant . . . I didn't know . . .”

Marianne's heart gave a jump when the king began to turn and for one moment she thought he would take her hand and help her out of the thorns. But his face was hard, ridged brow drawn down to shadow his eyes, and he made a gesture as it to push her backwards into the thorns. Marianne saw his hand coming toward her, claw-tipped fingers contorted into rigid curves and then the light went out.

* * *

  
  


Wood splintered and the door to the Autumn King's study swung open, wrenching the broken lock right out of the wood. Griselda dismissed the hefty goblin she had put to the task of breaking down the door, and peered inside the dark room. “Told you I'd have the door smashed in if you didn't open up. I know you're in here, my prickly little hedgehog.”

“Go away, mother.” Something shifted in the room, as if someone was turning away from the light coming through the open door.

“Did you get it back?” Griselda brought a lamp into the room and looked around. To her surprise the study was no more disarrayed than usual. When she had heard that her son had returned in a filthy mood she had expected to see at least some shredded paperwork and a few holes punched into the wall. But the papers were still on the desk and the walls were unscathed.

“I got it back.” Her son was sitting behind the desk, facing away from the door, his wings hanging limp. One hand came out and dropped a small sphere of amber on the desk. Griselda stepped further into the room and stopped when she saw the broken glass on the floor. There had been a decorative mirror on one wall—Griselda had put it there herself when she was doing her routine “brightening up” of her son's study. Now it was smashed across the floor. Edging around the shards Griselda picked up the amber.

“Huh, took it out of the setting, did they? Who had it?”

“The one Roderick described. Summer guard with yellow hair. It was,” the king paused and swallowed before continuing, “the captain of their guard—the one engaged to the Summer Heir.”

Griselda made a snorting noise of surprise. “Huh. Thought that girl had better sense. Must have been a nasty shock for her.”

“Unless she was in on it.” The king said bitterly.

“You think so?”

“It doesn't matter.” His voice went soft and tired, “The borders are closed. Nothing can get through now. Go away. Just . . . go away.”

“If that's what you want.” Griselda's voice went as soft as was possible for her, “You've had a long week, get some rest. If you want to talk . . .”

“Go away.”

“You know where to find me.” Griselda went out, wedging the broken door shut behind her.

The Autumn King heard her footsteps fade away. Drawing in a shuddering breath he turned to put out the lamp that his mother had left on the table. In the moments before the flame was extinguished and the room was cast once more in darkness the light glittered off the tears streaking down the Autumn King's long face.

* * *

  
  


Marianne had found herself on the green grass of Summer. The only wounds her her were scratches on her arms from her blind run through the garden. There was no sign that she had been tangled in thorn branches in some strange place between Autumn and Summer, some land that was both kingdoms and neither kingdom. The Autumn King had opened a door . . . a door in the air. With the amber in his staff. That must have been how they stole the little Winter prince from out of a locked room. How the Autumn King had been in the playroom the other night.

He had been going to take one of the Summer children hostage. He could have done it and been gone before she woke up. But he hadn't. But next time, maybe he would. The Autumn King could walk through walls and there was no way she could stop him.

Roland had taken the ring. It must have been him that cut the young Lord Roderick's arm off for the sake of that piece of amber and started this madness. Did he know what it could do? He had set it into his armor for the world to see. The unbelievable _arrogance_ of it. And now there was no proof of Roland's crimes. The twisted metal of his armor only showed that he had been attacked, would only back up his story that he had encountered the Autumn King creeping through the gardens and attempted to detain him.

Brushing down the front of her tattered dress Marianne went back to where she had left Roland and the little prince. The boy was dozing in the grass and nearby Roland still lay unconscious against the column. Marianne undid the fastenings of Roland's armor and pulled the chest plate off. She took the twisted thing and shoved it into the branches of a nearby bush, making sure the leaves were spread over it, hiding it from sight.

There. She could dispose of it later. Let Roland wake up and babble about being waylaid in the garden by goblins, who would believe him? The Autumn King might have taken her brother or one of her sisters—but he hadn't. The Winter prince was returned safely. The borders of Autumn were closed. There was no reason for Summer to storm the wall of thorns that was no doubt weaving itself along the boundary lines even as Marianne hid the armor.

Taking the sleepy boy, she balanced him on one hip so she could pick up Roland's sword with her free hand.

When the guards spotted her there was a commotion like none other. Everyone was suddenly there: her father, the Winter Queen, Dawn, Sunny . . . Marianne put the little prince into his mother's arms, saying, “I found him in the garden. No, I didn't see how he came to be there.” When someone asked her why she had Captain Roland's sword she told them, “I had broken off our engagement and he disagreed.” What conclusions they might draw from that statement she left up to them. “He's knocked out by the columns, someone should probably check on him.”

Not one word about the Autumn King's visit passed her lips. The prince was returned. The amber returned. Everyone had what they wanted. Let it all lie. She was not even sure what happened. She was not going to ramble on about goblins vanishing in bursts of amber light like some hysterical child. Let Roland do that and have his story dismissed as nightmares from a knock on the head or too much wine.

Her father escorted her to her rooms himself before he had to rush off and deal with the chaos. With the return of the little prince the ballroom had exploded into nearly hysterical cheering and they greeted the sight of the ragged Summer Heir as if she had single-handedly stormed Autumn to retrieve the boy. Dawn fussed over her sister, cleaning and bandaging the wounds on Marianne's arms, and putting her to bed.

Marianne lay in the dark until she was sure that Dawn was gone. She got up and lit a lamp. She looked in the mirror at her tangled hair and scored face.

Failed. She had failed. She had been given the opportunity to do something good, something great, and she had fumbled. She let it all slip away. What kind of queen could she be? Fooled by someone like Roland. Can't judge a man's character, can't maintain peace. Can't, can't, can't. She snatched up the nearest object—a bottle of perfume—and flung it into the mirror, shattering her reflection.

Ever since the garden she had walked numbly and stared straight ahead, fearing to look down and find that the ground had vanished from beneath her feet. Now it all fell out from under her and the fire roared inside of her so violently that her hands shook and her breath caught in her throat. The flames ate away the last shreds of her assumed composure and all the screams and sobs of the past week bubbled up in her. She pushed it all down again.

She had followed the pattern, she had obeyed the rules. Everything she could do to be the proper Summer Heir, she had done it. And what good had it done?

Fumbling clumsily in the drawers of her vanity she seized a pair of scissors and hacked at her hair, thick brown clumps falling everywhere as she tried to exorcise the ghost of Roland's fingers running through it. That wasn't enough, she ran to her closet and threw it open, tearing dresses from their hangers and tossing them across the room. Scissors glinting she chopped and slashed at soft fabrics and shining ribbons. How many pretty compliments had Roland paid her dresses? How many times had she dressed to please someone else, to appear as the Summer Heir was expected to appear?

The fire took this destruction as fuel and demanded more. Marianne seized the box of engagement notices she had been keeping in her room, planning to write personal notes to her particular friends. Then there was her box of papers, full of letters from the Autumn King. She dumped the creamy white cards and the letters with their heavy wax seals all over the bed and seized the lamp, smashing it over the papers. Fire blazed up, consuming the papers, burning where the lamp oil had trickled, threatening to spread off the bed and into the room.

Coming to herself in a surge panic, Marianne flipped over the blankets and smothered the flames. All that was left was a heap of charred bedding and the smoke that clouded the air. She unlocked the shudders and threw them open, letting the smoke out and moonlight in.

The fire in her heart had gone out too and without the burning anger to support her Marianne slumped to the floor and began to cry. She had not cried after she learned of Roland's betrayal. She had not cried when she saw Roderick's severed arm. Not even when the Winter heir went missing and her family was threatened. There had been no time.

There was time now.

It was all over.

She cried with great, gasping sobs that wracked her body, bent her over. She squeezed her arms across her stomach, clutching her sides, fearing she might fly apart if she let go.

When Dawn heard the sobs and knocked on the door Marianne told her to go away.

* * *

 

Along the edges of the forest thorns grew up and by morning the Autumn Kingdom was once more cut off from the rest of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course it's Roland's fault. What else did you expect? And of course he interrupts Bog and Marianne's moment and causes a terrible misunderstanding. It's just what Roland does, you understand.
> 
> The story will go into more depth about the amber when Marianne finds out more, but for now I'll clarify: The goblins use the amber to open portals. This has been a carefully guarded secret because everyone would want to get their hands on such a useful thing and be very distrustful of anyone who had it. There are different levels of amber. Some pieces can only open a door to a specific place, but pieces like the one on Bog's staff or in Roderick's ring can get them just about anywhere they want to go.
> 
> So when Roderick's ring turned up missing there was absolute panic and huge pressure on Bog to get it back, which is why he went to the extreme of kidnapping an royal heir.
> 
> And, at last, we get to the crying. It can only go up from here.
> 
> I suppose this is sort of the end of Part One.  
> I think I am going to take a week off so I don't have to rush my writing. I've been really pushing myself to crank out the chapters and it's starting to wear on me and, in my opinion, bring down the quality of writing. So come back on Sunday for Part Two! We'll start off with Sunny and Dawn sneaking off to a festival and everything will be blue skies and fluffy clouds.
> 
> Oh, almost forgot. I'm not sure if I thought up Marianne getting caught in the thorns before or after I read http://rosewaterwitch.tumblr.com/ An Awful Fix, so I thought I'd give credit just to be on the safe side. I was probably influenced by that story and by Marianne getting her wings caught on the thorns during the Strange Magic duet.


	12. Chapter 11: Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years after Autumn closed its borders Sunny and Dawn are sneaking off to a party

Seven Months After the Closing of the Autumn Border

 

_Footsteps pattered through the grass. A fairy's wings whipped against the towering blades of grass. She was gasping for breath and had her arms crossed, clutching a bundle to her chest. A blade of grass was pushed aside and after she passed it sprang back into place, a fresh red stain on it. Somewhere behind her, hidden in the grass, a voice was calling. Heavier footsteps pounded toward her, closing the distance between them._

_The fairy ran a little faster but she came up against the thorny barrier that had spanned the Autumn border for the better part of a year now. To run to either side would soon expose the fairy to the pursuer, but there were spaces between the spiked branches, spaces maybe big enough for her to slip through. Bundle shifted to one arm, the fairy slid gingerly between the thorns, trying to catch her breath and keep her trembling hands steady._

_“Come back! Please come back!”_

_The fairy started at the sound of the voice, suddenly nearer, and she lost her balance, falling against the thorns. A green spear-tip pierced her leg, another her shoulder. Now she couldn't help but cry out from the pain and she heard the footsteps pause and then resume, heading right for her. She could not pull herself free. Tears of pain and fear rolled down her face and she hugged her bundle tighter._

_A huge clawed hand darted out from among the thorns and wrapped around the fairy's arm._

_When the pursuer arrived, following the blood trail, he found the tips of the thorns wet with blood, but the fairy girl was not there._

* * *

 

Twenty-three Months After the Closing of the Autumn Border

 

As the sun rose over the gentle slopes of Summer's golden fields two voices joined in song could be heard in the still morning air. A fairy girl in a blue dress and blue leggings walked among the plant stalks, hand-in-hand with an elf boy wearing overalls and a ladybug patterned hat that made his hair stick up like the tip of a paint brush. The girl was not tall but the tuft of the elf's hair barely rose past her waist, and yet somehow they were managing to walk in step with each other, interrupting their singing with bursts of laughter. She shortened her steps, tangling in her own feet now and again, while he stretched his legs as far out as they could go, slapping the ground with his large feet.

“I remember this used to be so much easier.” Dawn giggled when they finally gave up.

“Yeah, before you grew like six inches in six months when you were fifteen.”

“Ugh, I've been all legs ever since. I look like I'm walking around on a couple of pine needles.”

“Nah, you're fine.” Was all Sunny trusted himself to say on the subject. He thought she looked gorgeous, but it was hard to say that to your best friend's face without them realizing you might think of them as more than a friend. “You look balanced. And if you're all legs, than I'm all feet!” He let go of her hand so he could stand on his hands and kick his feet in the air.

“We are the Amazing Duo of Legs and Feet.” Dawn declared, “Together, we're going places!”

Sunny flipped back upright and they resumed walking. Every so often they would both look over their shoulders, scanning the fields and sky with furtive glances. After one such glance they caught each other's eyes and Sunny asked, “You sure Marianne won't follow us?”

“I haven't breathed a word to anybody but Iona and Sand and they _swore_ to cover for me if Marianne comes back early. Believe me, I took every precaution! If she finds out we're gone off by ourselves she'll kill us both!” Dawn drew her finger across her throat in a sharp slicing motion.

“No, she'll just kill _me_.” Sunny said gloomily, “I think she thinks I'm starting to be a bad influence on you. Dragging you off into the perilous unknown all the time.”

“But this was my idea!” Most of the trouble they got into originated from some idea Dawn thought up, Sunny pulled along, protesting only half-heartedly.

“I know! Maybe she thinks it isn't right to kill her own sister so she needs a scapegoat.”

Dawn sighed, flapping her folded wings slightly. “She's been so difficult lately.”

The two of them were walking through the tall grasses, heading to the road to catch a ride to the storytelling festival. It was being held in the village where Sunny had been born and raised and Dawn had insisted they both attend. “Its been ages since I visited your family. Years! We used to go all the time when we were little. Then I suddenly got busy with all this court stuff and then Marianne turned super-overprotective. I can't walk outside my room without her jumping out from behind a potted plant and demanding to know where I'm going.”

“I walked up behind her the other day and she didn't hear me. I nearly got an ear cut off!” Sunny tugged one of his long ears as if to check it was still attached.

“I know! She walks around ready to cut down anything that looks at her the wrong way. After the Winter Prince being kidnapped I totally understood she was worried about us. But they found him. _She_ found him! And it's been two years!” Dawn dug her hands into her hair and tugged at it in frustration. “Two years!”

“And now she's gotten super-buff and walks around with her sword all the time like we were about to be attacked any minute.” Sunny snatched up a twig and swung it at the grass.

“Ugh.” Dawn flexed her arms and put on her best tough expression, growling, “I'm Marianne! Wanna arm wrestle?”

Sunny dropped the twig and balled his hands into fists, holding them in front of his face, “Were you looking at me? Huh? Huh? Keep it up and you'll get a poke in the eye, you menace to society!”

“Now, where do you think you're going, young lady?” Dawn shook her finger in a reproachful manner, “Without your armed guard and chain mail? You are a princess and must have at least three human shields present at all time to throw themselves in front of assassination attempts.”

“And what's with all the dark stuff she paints around her eyes? Is that a normal girl thing?” Sunny made circles with his thumbs and forefingers, putting them in front of his eyes.

“I think it's a way to increase the power of her glare to deadly intensity.” Dawn squinted her own eyes and Sunny clapped a hand to his heart, pretending to be wilting under her gaze.

They laughed uproariously at their own wit.

“She never said . . .” Sunny said later, while they lingered at the edge of the road, waiting for the wagons to come by. “She never said what happened that night in the garden, did she?”

“No.” Dawn remembered how her sister had appeared in the ballroom with the little Winter Prince in one arm and Roland's sword in the other. Marianne's blue and white dress had been ripped and pulled in hundreds of places, her hair snarled with twigs, face and arms covered with scratches. Despite being in possession of the Winter Prince she looked like someone who had lost the battle and was waiting for the final blow to fall. “No, she's never said a word except what she said that night. And I told you about . . . about what happened afterward.”

The sound of shattering glass that had startled and confused Dawn, but since there was no cry of alarm she assumed it had been a dropped glass or bottle. But not long after she heard the loud gasping sobs that Marianne had not even tried to mask. Dawn had called through the door and had been told to go away and Marianne would not open the door.

The next day had revealed a scene of chaos in Marianne's room, as if a razor-sharp whirl wind had swept through it. The mirror smashed, nearly all her clothes were cut to pieces, Marianne's long hair chopped down to a few uneven inches, and there was a pile of half-burned bed coverings dropped in a huddle on the floor. Marianne, who had by then composed herself to a state of red-eyed silence, had cleaned the room herself and said only, “Stupid, wasteful thing to do.” She did allow Dawn to trim her hair evenly.

Dawn continued out loud to Sunny, “She won't even say what Roland did. But it isn't hard to guess.” Roland had married another girl just after the Summer Ball. It was a rushed and quiet affair and there was endless gossip about. Most of it wasn't spoken of in front of the younger princess but Dawn had pieced together that Roland and the girl—Adeline— _had_ to get married. “He broke her heart and now she doesn't trust anyone. Not even me.”

“Hey, not true.” Sunny caught up Dawn's hand and swung it back and forth, “Not really, I think. She just doesn't trust the world not to fall down on top of you when she's not looking. Hey, maybe if we get away with our adventure today she'll realize you won't get snatched by bandits if you step outside the palace.”

“More likely she'll chain me in the dungeon.” Dawn retorted, “So I guess we'd better make today count. One last fanfare before the ax falls.”

Singing met them when the wagon they had hitched a ride on neared the village. Half a dozen different songs were being sung at the same time, each group of people attempting to drown the others out. Shouting their thanks to the driver they disembarked, Dawn skimming above the ground, Sunny running through the grass, easily circling and jumping any obstacles that came his way.

Like most elf villages it was built up with round towers with pointed, wood-shingled roofs, circled and criss-crossed with bridges and walkways so that it was possible to walk from one end of the village to the other without touching the ground. Flowers were strung everywhere and Dawn gained altitude to circle above and admire the view before diving sharply back down to meet Sunny at the edge of the festivities.

There was a chorus of greetings at the sight of the princess and people came up to say how good it was to see her, they hadn't seen her since she was just a little thing! Children ran up and formed a ring, dancing around her until she broke into the circle and danced with them. Their lack of formality was something Dawn had always liked. The elves might bow for her father but they had known her since she was barely as tall as them and looked upon her with a familial affection.

There were dozens of old friends to greet and new people to meet. Food was handed to them as they walked along and the princess and the elf snacked their way through the village, joining in the singing, until they made it to the square. There were plays, games, and puppet shows, but when noon rolled around everything quieted down and the storytelling began. Several were told at the same time in different parts of the square and Dawn drifted around, listening to snatches of familiar stories.

Dawn passed by an old elf who was telling a group of children the story of the Changing Land, which Dawn had heard many times in her childhood.

“The fae used to live on both sides of the veil, in this world and that one,” the old lady was saying, “When humans began to rise in power we decided to stay behind the veil in our Four Kingdoms. Here we are connected and disconnected from the Changing Land, a single kingdom that shifts between the four seasons so that someplace can be covered with the snow of Winter and then later thaw into the warmth and growth of Spring.”

The children of Summer scoffed at this idea but went silent after a stern look from the storyteller.

“When Summer rises into its time of prominence that is when the Changing Land is experiencing their own summer and that is when the veil between our two worlds is thinnest and things slip through. The same for Winter, Spring, and Autumn. Sometimes we can see through into the Changing Land and sometimes the Changing Land looks through and sees us.”

“That's when the birds come!” One little girl broke in.

“Yes, that's when the birds come. When we shut ourselves away from the changing land we warded against dangerous creatures slipping through but sometimes they manage to get in anyway. Birds, sometimes, and on a rare occasion even a human or two has found their way here.”

Gasps from the children and the storyteller began to tell them about birds and how the massive beasts could snap up an elf with one peck of its beak.

Dawn smiled and moved on, tugging Sunny to pull him along with her. It was early in the day and almost everyone began with tales of the founding of the Four Kingdoms and the distortion between this world and the Unchanging Land. But Dawn's ears caught someone who had skipped forward a bit, telling the story of the battle of Spring and Summer. The story had never interested her when she was small, being all about fighting as far as she could tell. Now she paused and listened.

“As you know, when the Four Kingdoms were founded the spells were set so that there would always be four kingdoms and only four kingdoms no matter what. Even should one kingdom go to war and conquer another there will still be two separate lands at the end of it all. Power does shift, though, such as with that long ago battle.

“In the beginning each kingdom was ruled by a particular people. Autumn went to the goblins, Spring to the fairies, Winter to the Jotunn and Summer to elves. Now fairies rule both Spring and Summer but there are two kingdoms, not one.”

Dawn frowned, trying to remember what her history books had said about the conquering of Summer. Nothing much that she could recall, except that Spring won and the fairies colonized Summer. Hazy memories told her she had heard this story before during different trips to Sunny's village, but she had never _thought_ about it before. Elves once had their own kingdom. _This_ kingdom, the one ruled by her father, had once belonged to some other royal family and the descendants of that family possibly still lived somewhere on the fringes of Summer. Did they know who they were, who their family once was?

“During this war many old arts and skills were destroyed,” The storyteller went on, “Winter sealed itself in snow, Autumn retreated into their forest, avoiding the destruction of the fighting between Spring and Summer. It is said that once all the kingdoms had the knowledge and power to pass through the veil and walk in the Changing Lands, but that was lost to us in the war, when libraries burned and learned scholars were killed. Not even the sorcerers trapped and bound to service know the trick of it anymore.”

This was old news to Dawn and she moved on and they came upon someone telling stories about Autumn. These stories were always a novelty to Dawn because she had been raised in strict ignorance of their goblin neighbors, practically right up until they showed up at that fateful Summer Ball. Stories about goblins were always fascinating and since the brief mingling of the two kingdoms the tales had grown even taller. Because the storytellers knew next to nothing about Autumn they made up exciting and gruesome details that left the audience spellbound with horror.

Dawn stood behind a group of children, hands clutched to her face while a young and enthusiastic storyteller waxed on about a five-headed goblin that had learned the trick of turning invisible and would prey on people wandering alone on moonless nights, tearing them up to divide between his five mouths. Overcome, Dawn dropped to her knees with a squeak and wrapped herself around Sunny, arms around his neck and the side of her face pressed against his, eyes riveted on the speaker. Wheezing from the stranglehold, Sunny patted Dawn's arms.

Later they listened to a tale about a fairy and a human who fell in love and were forever divided by the veil between worlds and Sunny had to half-carry a sobbing Dawn away for a break. Every time he warned her not to listen to the star-crossed lover stories and every time she insisted she would be able to handle it and ended up a weeping mess by the end.

The afternoon was wearing on and the sun shone in a cloudless sky when the pair went for a walk across the outskirts of the village so Dawn could compose herself. From here they could see the tree line of Autumn, dark branches scratching against the blue sky.

“You used to play games there, didn't you?” Dawn sniffed, nodding at the forest. “Dare each other to go in, right?”

“Yeah.” Sunny grimaced, unpleasant memories coming to mind. “I won that one. Smallest kid can fit the farthest into the thorns, you know. Even get a look inside . . .” He remembered the thorns sticking into his arms and chest, the terrible panic of being stuck and hearing something move in the dim twilight of the forest, coming closer and closer to where he was trapped.

It was a story he had never told Dawn. Never told anyone. Only his parents knew all about it. About the nightmares that plagued their son's sleep and the fear that ate away at him during the day, his young eyes drawn to stare at the distant trees. That was why he'd been sent to be a page at the palace when he was twelve, to get him away from the source of his nightmares.

“Two years . . .” Dawn said, her eyes directed toward the forest, “Marianne wanted to go there so badly. It was her biggest dream, the biggest one she ever had. Even Roland never matched up to it, even before the whole . . . thing.”

The day after the destruction of Marianne's bedroom the border patrol had reported that the Autumn border had been sealed in the night. There was no way Marianne could have known, but she did not seem surprised by the news. She seemed to accept it as confirmation of something she already suspected. And Dawn had seen fragments of the Autumn King's letters in that heap of charred bedding, mixed in with the remains of the engagement notices. How, Dawn wondered, could Marianne had possibly known?

“Now she's gone all too cool for feelings.” Sunny began to jump around on some rocks and Dawn admired his complete defiance of gravity. She could fly, but that was easy with wings. For Sunny to just effortlessly leap and spin like that in spite of being a technically earthbound creature was nothing short of astounding to Dawn. In the past she had tried to learn some of his moves but she was too long and her wings balanced her differently so she ended up on her face more often than her feet. This only added to her regard for his acrobatics and she could have watched him all day, or at least until he needed a rest.

“Too cool for feelings!” Dawn giggled, “Too cool for fun! Nothing left for us but grim looks of determination and the sword!” She thrust out her arm to salute with an invisible blade.

“Dancing and laughter are for the weak!” Sunny balanced on one hand, “Only the frivolous masses indulge in happiness! The serious and hardworking know that pain is gain and frowns are powerful”

“Sunny?” Dawn squeaked, reaching up to clutch her face.

“Anyone caught smiling will be publicly flogged!”

“Sunny!”

Now Sunny heard the fear in Dawn's voice and paused, standing on one foot, leaning over backwards with his hand on the ground. “Is there something really bad behind me?” He asked, frozen in place, barely moving his mouth to speak.

“Yes!” Dawn said from between her fingers.

“What? How bad? Like a giant hungry lizard bad?”

“Worse!”

“ _Worse_?!”

“It's Marianne!”

Without otherwise moving Sunny turned his head, craning his neck, to look behind him. Marianne stood on a rock a little ways distant, booted feet apart, one hand on her hip, the other resting on the hilt of the sword hanging from her belt. She lifted one hand and wiggled her fingers in greeting. Dark purple stains framed her eyes and this somehow enhanced the gleam of menace lurking there.

“Hi.” She said with a terrible casualness, purple painted lips parting in what was technically a smile. It certainly displayed Marianne's teeth.

Sunny and Dawn screamed simultaneously. “ _Run_!” Falling from his precarious pose Sunny rolled down the side of the rocks and hit the ground running. Dawn took the air and Sunny dodged through the plant stalks, both of them fleeing blindly from the princess behind them.

One eye on the sky to follow Dawn's progress, Sunny failed to see the second fairy land in front of him and he ran right into her knees. A flash of green wings and Sunny realized it was one of Marianne's former handmaidens. Sure enough, the other two were nearby, easily identifiable by their pink and lavender wings. Dawn came up short when they headed her off and Marianne pounced on her.

“Too cool for fun?” Marianne demanded, her arms wrapped around Dawn, holding the younger girl's wings and arms immobile. Dawn briefly thought that not long ago Marianne probably wouldn't have been able to hold her up and keep in the air. It was impressive.

“It was a joke!”

“Nothing left but grim determination and the sword?”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry!”

“Anyone caught smiling will be publicly flogged!” Marianne freed one hand and began to tickle Dawn's ribs.

“Ah! No! No, no, no!” Dawn shrieked with laughter, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Stop! Stooop! Sunny, save me!”

Two handmaidens had each taken an arm and pulled Sunny up into the air. They had huge grins on their faces and asked, “Shall we drop him? Or should we not be so merciful?”

“You're all terrible!” Dawn writhed but her sister's grip was like a steel band.

* * *

 

Back on the ground Dawn and Sunny kicked the dirt and stared at their toes while Marianne, all business now, launched into a lecture about irresponsibility and reckless stupidity.

The three handmaidens perched on the rocks and kicked their legs to an fro, clearly bored. They were sisters, though whether triplets or not no one was sure. All three of them were dark skinned and wore scarves over their black hair, their only really distinguishing feature being that their wings were pink, lavender, and green, respectively. Marianne had been fourteen when the handmaidens had come into her service and they were about ten years older than her. The Summer King had intended them as another level of discreet protection for his eldest daughter and the three women were all as skilled with a sword as much as they were with hairbrushes.

Their presence was Marianne's compromise with her father about wandering off alone. Her father had insisted that the Summer Heir should not go about unaccompanied and Marianne agreed, but disagreed with the idea of a constant armed guard trailing in her wake. So now almost wherever Marianne wandered outside the palace the three fairies would follow, swords at their sides.

“And to top it all off!” Marianne was winding down and Dawn ventured to look up, “If you had just asked me if you could come I would have brought you myself!”

“Ask you? And risk you expressly forbidding it?” Dawn pointed out, “Or dragging a whole troop of people along with us? I didn't _want_ to go with you. I wanted to come with Sunny like it was how it used to be. Before . . . before you got so mean!”

“Dawn, I don't do this to be mean,” Marianne took a deep breath and tried to speak more softly, more kindly. Lately she seemed to have lost the knack. “But this village is right by the forest! It isn't safe.” Marianne gestured at the tree line, which was even closer now since in their blind dash Sunny and Dawn had headed straight for it.

“It's safe enough for the elves!” Dawn objected, “You've never even thought about them, have you? If it really is so dangerous you would have helped them relocate or set up some protection.”

“They aren't royal heirs.”

“So they aren't important?”

“That isn't what I meant, and you know it!”

“Hey, hey!” Sunny stepped between the two princesses and waved his arms to get their attention, “We're sorry, okay? I shouldn't have dragged Dawn along with me without your permission.”

“But, Sunny, you didn't!” Dawn protested.

“We just wanted to have some fun,” Sunny went on, “Like we used to. Remember how the three of us used to come down here for parties and stuff? Don't you miss doing that?”

“Save the big, sad eyes.” Marianne crossed her arms over the front of her sleeveless red tunic. The pose displayed the muscles in her shoulders and upper arms, which had grown considerably in the past two years. “You two are in so much trouble.”

Dawn got down on her knees beside Sunny and they looked up at Marianne with huge, shining eyes, faces mournful. “Please let us stay until the end?”

“Ugh, you guys.”

“Puh-leeeeze?” Their eyes, in apparent opposition to the physically possible, widened.

“Fine!” Marianne uncrossed her arms and threw her hands up in the air. “You can stay until sundown. But we're all leaving together, got it!”

“Yay!” Dawn jumped up and floated above the ground, legs folded underneath her, “I knew you still have a heart under all those other muscles!”

“Ugh!” Marianne began to walk away.

“We love you, Marianne!” They called.

“Whatever.”

“We love you so much we're gonna hug you!”

“What?” Marianne turned around and found her sister bearing down on her, arms spread. She tried to dodge but found her legs seized and she looked down and saw Sunny. “Hey!”

“Hugs!” Dawn laughed. Marianne threw out her arms and held her sister away at arm's length. “Hugs for grouchy Marianne!” The younger princess slipped sideways and threw her arms around her sister. The Summer Heir staggered awkwardly with her knees pinned together while Dawn hovered off the ground so that she easily compensated for Marianne's movements and could not be dislodged. “You'll never escape the love.”

Marianne just made grumbling noises. “You idiots.”

* * *

 

“Haven't budged since that day.” Sunny remarked, with a shiver.

The three of them had come close enough to the border to see the tangle of thorny branches that circled the Autumn Kingdom. Flowers grew here that weren't found anywhere else and some elves were gathering them and a few storytellers actually wove their tales underneath the brambles, the atmosphere lending power to their narratives. Marianne had surprised Sunny and Dawn by letting them come this far and now they picked their way around old pathways where elves had driven carts of Summer wares to trade with Autumn.

“There used to be primroses.” Sunny remarked, “All along the border. But lately they've just gone. Sometimes we see a plant, but they vanish before they blossom.”

“Primroses are for love potions. Is someone making a huge batch?” Dawn joked, fluttering closer to the boundary.

“Or trying to keep them from being made?” Marianne wondered.

“How unromantic!” Dawn sighed, arms full of flowers.

Marianne stared at the thorns, thinking back to that night. Thinking of how since the moment the dragonflies swarmed into the ballroom her dream had been to see the Autumn Kingdom. Explore the unknown, meet its bizarre inhabitants and become friends. It was like a land full of adventure, locked away from her forever and tainted by the secret she had stumbled onto. The power of the amber. If Roland had not stolen that amber maybe . . . but maybes weren't going to change what happened.

Dawn glanced at her sister and saw that Marianne was wearing what Dawn mentally referred to as the “Roland Face”. Marianne only looked that mad when she was thinking of Roland. Though why she should be, when they were nowhere near him or anything to do with him, Dawn could not guess. The younger princess moved away, knowing better than to try and comfort her sister, so she missed the transition of Marianne's expression from anger to sadness.

Adeline.

Whenever Marianne thought of Roland her thoughts always wound their way around to the captain's unfortunate young wife. The girl had married him after all and Marianne was surprised that Roland offered at all. During their few brief meetings Marianne had offered Adeline any help she might need, expressed to the girl that she did not need to marry Roland at all. Adeline had thanked her and refused the offer, saying she thought they would be able to make the marriage work.

Whether or not there was any truth in that idea was soon rendered irrelevant. Six months later Marianne had received word that Adeline had died giving birth to a stillborn child. 

* * *

 

The sun slipped down behind the horizon while the princess and the page lay on their backs on the rocks to catch the last rays of warmth and stare up at the fire streaked sky. Marianne would be coming soon and the day would be over.

“Sunny, do you have a girlfriend?”

“Huh, what?” Sunny jerked out of his dozing state at the question and rolled his head around to look at Dawn, “Why would you—no!”

“Have you ever had one?” Dawn pinched the cloth of her glove and twisted it around. “Have you ever thought about it?”

“Um, I guess. I mean, I've never really dated anyone, but I guess I've thought about it. What's up, having guy troubles?” It wasn't Sunny's favorite subject, talking about guys with Dawn, but he always listened and advised when he could.

“Oh, no.” Dawn shook her head and stared at the sunset, “There isn't . . . hasn't been anybody in awhile.”

Ever since Marianne had become so overprotective it had been harder and harder for Dawn to find guys that met with her sister's approval. And she had found none that were worth sneaking around and lying to Marianne about. The timing coincided with Dawn's naturally waning interest in sweethearts.

“All those guys, I was looking for something but I wasn't finding it.” Dawn continued, “Guys, paying calls, having tea with important people . . . I just got tired of it all. Everything was so much fun, so exciting at first but it got so boring. None of it . . . _went_ anywhere.”

“Nobody, huh?” Sunny stared at the sunset too and hoped the red light disguised the color of his face.

“Nobody.” Dawn agreed, “And I've been thinking a lot lately, about things. And I started thinking about what if you got a girlfriend and didn't have time for me anymore.”

“Hey!” Sunny turned to look at Dawn and grabbed her hand, stopping her from picking at the palms of her fingerless gloves. “You are my very best friend, Dawn, and I'll always have time for you.”

“But I'm still just a friend.” She wrapped her long thin fingers around his rough hand, “And friends aren't as important.”

“Says who?” Sunny frowned, “ _Just_ a friend? There's no _just_. We're friends, best friends, and that is so super important to me. _You're_ important to me. You get married to some guy and I'll make friends with him too so we can all hang out. I'm not going anywhere.”

“I'm not going anywhere either. As for guys, I've stopped looking.” Dawn whispered, looking straight at Sunny, her fingers woven with his. His heartbeat was thudding in his ears and he was certain he was misunderstanding what Dawn was saying but for a moment he thought, maybe . . .

“Time to go!” Marianne and her handmaidens came flying over with lanterns. “Wake up!”

The two best friends shot up and turned away from each other, Dawn brushing off her skirt and Sunny adjusting his hat. Sunny was staying the night to visit with his family so he said goodbye to the princesses and waved them out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand we're back! I'll be busy Sunday, so here's the chapter a day early.
> 
> Fluff. 99% fluff with 1% exposition mixed in. There's even a hint about Sugar Plum if you squint just right.
> 
> Potionless hinting about their feeeeelings. Lemme say, it is hard for my fatigued brain to switch between writing Potionless and Butterfly Bog. Because right now the two components of Butterfly Bog are in their super-angsty-middle-name-is-misery phase while Potionless are just irrepressible rays of sunlight.
> 
> What's with that prologue? All will be revealed eventually.
> 
> And I'm just going to credit http://touchofgrey37.tumblr.com/ because at this point I don't know how much of my writing was influenced by canon and how much was shaped by their potionless fanfics.


	13. Chapter 12: Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which A Party is Crashed
> 
> *muffled sound of Mistreated playing in the distance*

The Summer King looked across his desk and examined his eldest daughter. Not so long ago she had come into his study to talk about the future, face clear and eyes bright. She had worn a white dress with a pink sash, thin white slippers on her feet, long hair loose down her back. Today Marianne had entered her father's study accompanied by the distinct clop of her knee-high boots echoing around her. Her expression was not angry, but something about it suggested anger anyway, maybe the line between her eyes that never went away, or the way her mouth rested with the corners pulled down. Or maybe it was the purple shadows she painted around her eyes. There was nothing to soften her expression because her hair had been clipped back against her head.

“This is the third time you've challenged someone to a duel.” The king said once Marianne had sat down.

“Yeah. Don't worry, though,” Marianne huffed, not quite snorting, “They all declined the challenge and conceded the point.” She picked up her father's letter opener and began to fidget with it, tapping its point on the desk.

“That isn't what I'm worried about. Well, not entirely. I'm worried about _you_. It used to be that you worked out your differences more . . . diplomatically. Now you pull your sword out over every little slight. You wear your sword _everywhere_.”

“What's wrong with that?”

“I don't think I need to answer that. I wish you would talk to me.” The king said.

“There's nothing to talk about.”

“I think there is. You've never even told me the rights of what happened with Captain Roland. And now that his circumstances have changed he had come to me expressing an interest in renewing--”

The king broke off and eyed the dent Marianne had just stabbed in the desk with the letter opener. Marianne laid the knife down and crossed her arms. “Just because his indiscretions have been neatly buried does not mean that I want anything to do with him.”

“Marianne, he's sincerely sorry for his past transgressions, I think if you talked to him you would find him changed for the better by his experience. Even now he is a most suitable match and he cares for you.”

“Well, I don't care for him! After what he did!”

The king looked at his daughter, saw the hurt in her eyes, the anger that she wouldn't let go. “It doesn't have to be him, Marianne, but it has to be _someone_. You need to start thinking about marriage again, but you're so taken up with this _hate_ of Roland and you won't let him go. It seems like you still have feelings for him.” His daughter gave a snort and the King frowned sadly, “Sometimes I think there's something about this story you're not telling me.”

 

* * *

 

Marianne had told no one about the amber, about the goblin's apparent ability to anywhere at any time. Plunging into research she had hoped to find some way to guard against this unconventional form of infiltration, but she had discovered nothing helpful. She had plowed through great piles of old books and attended so many storytelling gatherings and festivals that they blurred together in her head. The Autumn people's use of amber might be connected to the forgotten art of traveling between worlds, something lost during the Spring Invasion when the libraries burned. There were many stories about goblin amber and discerning face from fiction was an impossible challenge because there were no other sources of information for comparison, leaving Marianne to make educated guesses.

One fact that Marianne was nearly positive was correct was that the Autumn Kingdom was in the possession of a sorcerer. After the Spring Invasion devastated the magical resources of the four kingdoms steps were taken to retain what was left and what sorcerers remained were trapped and bound to service of a master. It had long been rumored that Autumn held on to one and that she was responsible for anything magical happening there. It would explain how the goblins enchanted the amber and grew the barrier of thorns, if they had a sorcerer bound to the king's service.

How many generations had the kings of Autumn been in possession of this magic? Or had they never lost these old skills, preserving them when they sealed themselves in the forest during the Spring Invasion? Marianne shook her head at the thought of being able to travel anywhere you wanted in the space of a heartbeat and then choosing to lock yourself up to protect it.

Telling anyone what she had seen, and what she had more recently learned. would cause nothing but unease. For all Marianne's studious research she had found no way to lock out the goblins if they wanted in, no way to predict when and where they might come. The paranoia that came with this knowledge was unbearable and so many times at night Marianne awoke in the dark at some innocuous sound and froze under the cover of her wings, certain in her half-waking state that something was in the room with her. There wasn't. There never was. But the thought that there _could_ be at sawed at her nerves.

* * *

  
  


“What's the matter with Princess Marianne?” Had been one of the reigning topics in popular gossip for nearly two years now. How she had refused to dance since that fateful night when she broke it off with Roland, how she now spent more time practicing swordplay in the courtyard than working in her study, how she went flying off with hardly any escort, getting into fights and duels practically every week.

The focus of all this attention now stood on the edge of the ballroom, scowling at the dancers. Marianne knew full well everyone was talking about her and she hated it but she refused to let it bother her. She wore her scowl like armor, disdaining to force a more pleasant expression onto her face. To pretend cheerfulness would be admitting she cared two pins about what the gossips said.

Stepping her way through the crowd Marianne brushed against the long, floating skirts of the other ladies. Her own hem only hit here mid-calf, allowing her booted feet to move freely. Still not entirely free from concern over appearances she had dressed as formally as possible without actually wearing a dress, earning some comments from fourteen year old Iona earlier in the day.

“I'm not going to the ball!” Iona had declared, flicking her wings, which had darkened from pink to purplish in the last year, “I'd have to wear a _dress_!”

“Of course you'll wear a dress—we're all wearing dresses. Except Sand, naturally.” Marianne had pointed out.

“ _You_ don't wear dresses!” The younger princess shot back.

“I'm wearing a dress right now!”

“Dresses don't have leggings underneath.” Iona retorted, “That is not a dress.”

Marianne had really hoped no one would notice the tunic-like cut of her red and green outfit, but caught out, attempted to bargain. “If I let you wear leggings underneath will you wear the dress?”

“No. I'm going to cut my hair and go look for adventure.”

“You love your hair, Iona!”

“No I don't! Long hair is sissy.”

“You will wear the dress or you will never get another lesson in swordplay again, do you understand?”

Marianne's tact and diplomacy had wasted away and the only way she could keep her siblings in line was with threats and bribery. She had dared step outside the pattern of how things were done and now everything was unraveling. She had thought her choices were her own to make but she had reckoned without her influence over her young siblings and their desire to emulate her. How could she explain to Iona that it wasn't dresses that she disliked, but the memories she associated with them. Not that she hated dancing—though she had never loved it—but the recollection of being in Roland's arms, listening to his sugar-coated lies.

Nearby in the ballroom Lysander was lurking, hoping to escape actually having to dance. While in disposition he usually resembled Dawn, cheerful and sensitive, when it came to socializing he fell more into line with Marianne. In the past he had endured his social duties with grace but with Marianne's defection from polite society he had given up all pretense. If Marianne didn't bother, why should he?

“When did I become such a bad influence?” Marianne silently bemoaned. By the time she had made her brother and sister presentable—Dawn, thank goodness, needed no looking after as far as parties went—and dragged them to the ballroom she had a pounding headache and a strong desire to hit something.

Right on cue, Roland appeared.

Marianne's hand gripped the hilt of her sword and she did not try to conceal the gesture. She and her father had had many arguments about how wearing a sword to social events was not appropriate, but she refused to leave it off. She couldn't explain to her father about the sense of danger she felt all the time, that her sword hanging from her belt was the only thing that kept her from outright panic some days.

Roland's eyes flicked toward Marianne's clenched hand, but his smile did not waver and he offered no comment. “Hello, d--”

“Call me “darling” and I will not be responsible for what happens.” Marianne snapped, “You've got a lot of nerve, showing up here.”

Roland pushed back a golden curl from his forehead and said airily, “I'm still Captain of the Guard. My social position didn't rest exclusively on our association, you know.”

“Just because you are sent an invitation doesn't actually mean you are wanted here. It's only an empty gesture of courtesy.”

“Now, don't be like that. I'll admit I've made some mistakes, but that's all ancient history now. Can't we be friendly?”

“No.”

“I'd like to talk to you. About what happened in the garden that night and a lot of other things.” Roland's voice rose a bit, sounding strained. Ever since that night he had been wondering what Marianne did and did not know about the border incident, how much his memory of the confrontation in the garden were faulty from the two hits to the head he had received in close succession.

Marianne, for her part, had gone back for the shredded piece of Roland's armor the next day and managed to discreetly obtain some metal cutting shears. The chest plate was ornamental, not meant for practical use, and the Autumn King had torn into it easily. Marianne, on the other hand, found the cutting slow, painful work and by the time she had reduced the armor to disposable sized pieces her hands were raw with blisters. Marianne looked at her hands now, absently pleased at the hard callouses she could feel there.

“I'd prefer not to talk to you.” Marianne said, wishing she could say it coldly, that her words weren't thick with obvious anger.

Roland was about the push the issue and Marianne was about to push her fingers into his eyes. Lysander sprang out of the crowd and threaded his arm through his sister's. Almost at the same moment Dawn appeared behind Roland and seized the captain by the hand.

“May I have this dance?” Dawn asked in her typical bubbly way, grabbing Roland by the arm and pulling him onto the dance floor with an uncharacteristic firmness. The captain staggered after her, the awkward movements making his armor clank.

At the same time Lysander was saying to Marianne, loudly enough for Roland to hear, “May I have this dance, Marianne? If I have to dance, you're suffering with me.” And he guided his sister in the opposite direction from where Roland and Dawn were heading.

“Sand!” Marianne glowered, pulled into the flow of the dancers, trying to fall into step and not careen into someone. Lysander was a good lead and steered her clear until she caught the rhythm. “I am perfectly able to take care of myself!”

“Of course you can.” Lysander agreed, “But that doesn't mean we're going to stand back and let you get pestered. And somebody had to save Roland. He wasn't going to let up until you socked him.”

“Even that's not as effective as you might think.” Marianne muttered.

“Dawn was the one who saw you cornered and deployed me—she used that word, not me—so direct your anger in that direction. Iona just wanted to pour a drink down the back of his armor. Anyway, now you've _had_ to dance.”

“Ugh, you're all idiots.” Marianne said with great affection.

“Love you too.” Lysander's smirk brought out a close resemblance to Marianne.

“Wait, what was that?” Marianne stopped. Through the open windows a breeze swept through and Marianne had caught the damp smell of wet leaves and rotting wood. Her arms pricked with the memory of a hundred thorns stabbing, her wings twitched against the echo of the branches tearing their delicate fabric. “Sand . . . can't you . . .” From the corner of her eye she caught a movement in the windows. Not dancers, not the unfurling of fairy wings, no . . . something else.

Distracted by Roland she had failed to notice the shadows creeping in the windows and scurrying up the walls and across the ceiling. Now the lights started to swing and flicker, casting crazy shadows across the wall. For a confused moment it looked like the shadows had peeled off the wall and taken on solid forms. Sand's grip on her arm tightened and she tore her eyes away from the shadows to look at him.

“Sand, where's Iona?” Marianne could see Dawn's yellow hair nearby, but there was no sign of their little sister. “Find Iona! Get to the playroom!”

“Marianne, what's going on? Are those--?”

Marianne finished for him. “ _Goblins_.”

The crowd moved like a wave, pushed back by the shadows, clearing the center of the room. In this newly empty space the chandeliers crashed, sliced from their chains, exploding across the floor, twisted heaps of metal and candle wax, a spiderweb of cracks radiating across the stone floor.

Bits of wax, iron, and chips of the stone floor showered the nearest fairies, their cries rising sharply in response. Caught in the tide of bodies Marianne was slammed against a table full of flowers, losing her grip on Lysander's hand when the thunderous crash shook the room. The music had stopped, discordant chords screeching when the stringed instruments were dropped. “Sand!” She shouted after him, but he was lost in the crush of bodies and she couldn't be heard over the din.

Goblins. There were goblins everywhere. In the windows, hanging from the ceiling, forming lines to push the crowd against the walls. A few fairies tried to take to the air but they were caught in nets or snagged by the ankles and pulled down again. Still pinned against a table Marianne wiggled backwards and onto it and tried to get a look at what was going on. Up on the dais she could see her father, the Princess of Spring, and the Queen of Winter all being restrained by large round goblins.

Marianne finally spotted Iona and felt her heart nearly stop when she did. A huge goblin held the little princess by the arms, dangling her above the ground while she kicked and screamed. Ears catching the familiar cadence of their voices Marianne's eyes snapped around and found that Dawn and Lysander had been grabbed too. Several other royal children had been grabbed and Marianne realized they were targeting the heirs, knowing them by their crowns. The Autumn King was taking hostages.

Marianne snatched off the golden circlet she wore and jammed it into her pocket. Of course, the _one_ year they were all wearing symbols of office—in honor of the Winter Queen's anniversary of her twenty year rule. Marianne slid off the table and pushed her way into the crowd, but her progress was halted with the rippling movement of the people crammed together, recoiling when the great entrance doors burst open.

A haze of mist rolled in, dissipating in the warmth of the room. The night had been warm and dry, there was no way mist could have formed, and Marianne wondered if the goblins had somehow brought it with them from Autumn for the sake of presentation. Now as it thinned it revealed a looming shape, wraith-like in the dim light, its gray coloring causing it to be nearly indistinguishable from the misty gloom around it. It stepped forward and proved itself to be altogether solid as it pulled free from the mist, a gleam of golden light winking.

The Autumn King.

Feet rasping on the floor, staff thumping in time to his stride, the Autumn King entered, stalking through the shrieking mass of fairies and Winter guests, wings spread out full behind his crouching stance. A hoard of small goblins had been gathered around him and when he entered he flicked out one hand and they scattered to follow his silent instruction.

This was what had haunted Marianne for months, filled her nightmares, infected her waking thoughts, what she heard scuttling in the dark corners of her bedroom at night, reaching out with terrible clawed hands to steal away her family. And he was here. He was real.

Underneath the suppressed panic, the rolling waves of fear, there was a gleam of relief. Her fears were realized, she could release a long held breath. For so long she had been fencing with shadows. The situation was terrible and her family was in danger, but she knew what to do and it was simple.

Finally, something she could _hit_.

* * *

 

The Autumn King had either grown even more since Marianne had last seen him or she had simply forgotten exactly how tall her was. Stalking along he was still head and armored-shoulders above the crowd and she could see him clearly as she shoved here way toward Iona's shrieks of rage. Unlike that other Summer Ball the Autumn King displayed no nervousness, no uncertainty, his long, sharp face pulled down in a sneer of displeasure. The remaining lights had been shifted around by the goblins and the thrones and the path to them were lit up, a sharp contrast to the gloom cast over the rest of the room.

“You'll have to forgive me for my late arrival.”

The goblin's voice carried over the noise, booming and confidant. He was not paying any apparent attention to the movement of his people and yet all the goblins fell to their tasks without being told, like well-rehearsed actors following the cues of a familiar script. Marianne could see none of the guards but spotted an abandoned helmet on the floor by the open door, glinting in the flickering light, and realized that the goblins must have dealt with them before announcing their presence.

“What is the meaning of this?” The Summer King demanded, straining against the goblins that had pulled him from his throne and held him fast.

Marianne hesitated on the edge of the crowd, keeping people in front of her so she wouldn't run the rise of the Autumn King seeing and recognizing her. Eyes darting from the Autumn King, to her father, to the goblins holding the royal children captive. The Summer King spotted Marianne and mouthed at her, “ _Run_!” Marianne's mouth fell open and she stared at her father in disbelief, mouthing back a silent but emphatic, “ _No_!” How could he think she would run away and hide when her family was in trouble? She did not watch to see what his response to that would be, turning to sweep her eyes over the room.

She picked out Sunny's ladybug hat across the room. He had climbed up a trellis under a window so that he was slightly above the crowd, watching helplessly as Dawn struggled against the goblins. Quick flicks of green, pink, and lavender wings caught Marianne's attention and she saw her three handmaidens signaling her from across the room. They were all armed, Marianne knew, since she had requested it.

“What is the meaning of this?”

The goblin king was halfway across the hall and his voice echoed into the ceiling, carrying to everyone present. “How strange you should ask that,” The Autumn King was on eye-level with the kings despite them standing on the platform, “I am here to ask just such a question. When I found the thorns burned, my borders breached, and my people attacked, I asked: _what_ is the meaning of _this_?”

“I don't know what you're talking about!” The Summer King protested, straining to keep his gaze from following Marianne's progress through the crowd. “Please, leave our children alone! We don't know what you're talking about!”

This answer displeased the Autumn King and he paused, bowed his head, inhaling a hissing breath through his sharp teeth, then slammed his staff against the floor, making all the nearby fairies flinch. “Then let me enlighten you!” One clawed hand pointed at the Summer King and a distinct burr overtook the goblin's speech, “My border deliberately breached! My kingdom invaded! Merchant wagons plundered! My people _butchered_.” His hand clenched into a fist. “Carved up and the pieces of them strewn along the border for us to find. And the trail leads back _here_ , to the Summer Kingdom. Straight back as if those that did the deed did not care whether or not I found them out. Is that it, then, is this a declaration of war?”

“No! I know nothing about this! You have my word we will investigate and find those responsible. I swear it!”

“You'll have to understand,” The goblin ascended the steps and laid one massive hand on the Summer King's shoulder and squeezing it with deliberate pressure until the fairy king winced. He leaned over, bringing his hideous face right up to the Summer King's, and said in a growl, “I don't believe you.” He released the Summer king and paced the dais.

“I!” He brought one clawed foot up and struck the Spring throne with a sharp blow. The thrones were heavy things of marble, metal, and gems. With that single kick the throne scraped across the dais and tumbled over the back, smashing into pieces against the stone floor.

“Don't!” Now the Winter throne fell.

“Believe you!”

The Summer throne toppled. The Autumn Throne sat alone on the platform, stone leaves and vines wrapped around glittering jewels of red and yellow. The Autumn King claimed his rightful seat and looked over the two kings and one queen standing before him.

“You have trespassed and invaded! You have killed my people! Why should I not avenge them right now? Give me one good reason.” He seized the Summer King by the collar and dragged him down to face him, sharp teeth bared in a snarl. “Give me one good reason not to rip your wings off right now.”

“Unhand him!”

Marianne launched herself into the air and then folded her wings, dropping like a rock toward the Autumn King, her sword held above her head. He dropped the Summer King, sprang from the throne, and brought his staff up just in time to block the blow, sparks flying when Marianne's blade bit into the length of metal.

“Whoa!” The Autumn King said, taken almost entirely off guard by this screaming fairy attacking him. Her own face was furrowed with rage, deep lines creasing between her eyes and at the corner's of her plum-colored lips which had parted over her clenched teeth. Startled out of his own scowl the Autumn King tilted his head at the fairy who was pulling her weapon away to strike another blow. The light of recognition flickered on in his brain and he said,

“You!” This was the Summer Heir, the kind young princess who had held out her hand in a tentative gesture of friendship. Who had run headfirst into the thorns of Autumn, hand still offered to him. Now her hands were closed tight out the hilt of her sword and fury burned in her brown eyes.

“Me.” Marianne agreed, slicing her sword toward his side. He blocked this and slid the his staff down the length of the blade, locking with the hilt, and shoved her back. The Summer Heir skidded backwards, wings spreading for balance. “Get away from my father, you scaly-backed cockroach!”

“Need any help, sire?” Asked a goblin, a bit maliciously.

“No!” The king snapped.

For a time there was nothing but the clash of sword and staff, Marianne's pure ferocity backing the Autumn King away from the platform and into the open space below. To guess who would have been the victor in the confrontation was hard to say. Once recovered from his initial surprise of the attack and the attacker the king fought with every bit of flair and efficiency as Marianne and despite their mismatched weapons and dissimilar heights neither was giving any ground.

It felt good, Marianne thought, to lash out at something, to give all her anger release. It also felt good, she realized, to fight someone who wasn't holding back, afraid of damaging the precious Summer Heir. Current circumstances aside, she found a strange enjoyment in the exchange of blows.

It was only when the Autumn King side-stepped a thrust of her blade and caught a glimpse at the ballroom that he saw what was happening.

The young princes and princesses were fleeing from the ballroom, the goblins who had been guarding them either incapacitated or trying to fight a handful of armed fairies. The fairies were not engaging the goblins head on, instead darting around out of reach of their enemy's superior strength, stinging and pricking with their swords before fluttering to a safe distance. The Autumn King was just in time to see the flash of wings retreating around a corner as the young nobles exited. The Summer Heir had been a decoy.

At a gesture from their king two massive goblins, big as boulders and round as toads rolled forward and snatched Marianne mid-blow, her sword skittering across the king's staff, showering sparks, before it was wrenched out of her hand. The clang of her sword hitting the floor filled her ears, then faded, and there was silence. The crowd was holding its breath, afraid of what the goblin would do to their foolhardy Summer Heir.

The Autumn king was breathing heavily and held his staff up in front of him almost as if he thought Marianne might manage another foray despite being practically sat on by the two hulking beasts. Flicking his wings, his face turned hard again and his teeth ground together. Boom, his staff struck the floor. With a flick of his foot the king tossed the fallen blade into the air, snatched it by the hilt and pointed it at the Summer Heir.

“Oh, very clever, princess. But useless.” He shouted at the goblins and immediately a troop of them dashed after the fleeing children.

“Don't you dare touch them!” Marianne growled, thrashing against the massive arms holding her down. “Don't you lay one disgusting claw on any of them!”

“Or what?” The Autumn King tossed the sword away and leaned down over her, thrusting his pointed nose right up to hers, sharp face contorted in a sneer of malice. This close she could see faded scars traced across his face, that a stubble of thorns dotted his chin, and feel the breath of his words on her face when he said. “You'll have my head on a stick?”

Those words stabbed into Marianne's heart like spikes of ice, punching through her defenses and freeing the fear she had been holding down since the mist rolled in. The words she had whispered into the darkness at a phantom figure as she stood guard over her family. Now these words were thrown back at her, reminding her that he could snatch her brother, her sisters, whenever he felt like it and for all her bravado there was nothing she could do to stop him.

The blood drained out of her face and her pupils widened until there was only the slimmest circle of the brown iris visible, and in the frame of the dark purple stains around her eyes it looked like there was two dark pits in her face. The Autumn King's lips turned up in a smile of grim satisfaction at this reaction.

But a moment later Marianne's teeth gritted together, the flames of fury reigniting in her eyes, banishing the darkness, and her left arm slipped loose from the clumsy fingers of her captors. Letting loose a rough cry of anger she smashed her fist right into the Autumn King's jaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Straight On For You starts playing* No, not yet! That happens properly later on! We're still on Mistreated. A dramatic exit on the backs of dragonflies still has to happen. Dramatic mist and deliberate spotlighting have been checked off, though.
> 
> No love potion shenanigans, sorry if that disappoints you. No worries, Sunny and Dawn are going to get into plenty of trouble anyway and Bog and Dawn will totally be hanging out. And the love potion WILL pop up again later on in the story, along with Sugar Plum.
> 
> Hey, Bog? Those thrones? Yeah, you're going to have to pay for those, y'know. And the invitation said RSVP and plus-one, not "bring your goblin hoard and take all the children hostage"


	14. Chapter 13: Abduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Hostage is Taken

Marianne's knuckles connected with the Autumn King's gray face and she feel that she had hit him dead on, a perfect punch. The Autumn King actually reeled back from the blow, his face going slack in shock at this unexpected turn.

Only for a moment.

He reached up, felt his jaw, and finding it intact his leafy brows furrowed and his lips contorted into a snarl. Lightning quick he darted out a hand at the Summer Heir's face, rough fingertips digging into her jaw, claws pricking her skin, drawing two or three drops of blood as he forced her head up. The filigreed head of his staff was held under her chin and she could see the edges sharpened onto the curlicues above the amber. “You won't do that twice, tough girl.” The king's rolling accent came out strongly now.

Marianne felt the strength in that hand and knew it could crack her bones in two if the king wanted. But she glared at him, matching him snarl for snarl, and her eyes dared him to do his worst. He wanted her to look away, to admit defeat, but she would never give any foe that satisfaction so she stared into those shadowed eyes, barely more than glimmers in that dark, contorted face before her.

Somewhere in the background Marianne could hear her father begging for the Autumn King to stop. Some of the goblins urged their king on. Some of them muttered that this might not be such a good idea. But neither the king or the heir were listening, their eyes locked and wills clashing. The pressure increased and Marianne felt warm drops trickle down her jaw and drip on her collarbone. Tears of pain, dry tears that were not called up by emotion, rolled down her cheeks and over the massive gray hand. But she did not blink. She did not lower her gaze.

It was the Autumn King who backed down.

When the tears rolled across his skin he blinked and the pressure on Marianne's jaw nearly vanished. The king's hand remained on her jaw, the fingers frozen in place but their touch feather-light compared to what it had been. He was still looking her in the eye, but he didn't seem to actually see her. His face looked lost, as if he had forgotten where he was. The blue eyes seemed to appear, released from the shadows of his scowl, and a look of dismay crossed his face.

“Sire? Sire?” A small goblin was talking to the king.

The Autumn King stood up, the removal of his hand making Marianne's head fall forward, deprived of its support. She could still feel the print of his hand on her skin, painful and throbbing. She could hear her father calling her name but adrenaline was still surging through her and it was all she could do to unclench her jaw and breath.

“What?” The king snapped at the goblin, standing with his wings unfurled and the layered plates on his shoulders spread out, the effect of which was to make him look like he had suddenly grown even larger.

The messenger goblin took a step backward as if pushed away by the force of the king's anger. “Um. The children locked themselves in some sort of safe room and the guards are getting free. Should we go after them anyway?”

“No . . .” the king subsided, absently rubbing his fingers together, feeling the warm liquid on his skin. “No, we've been distracted enough.” The cord of tension around Marianne's heart eased and she lifted her head, her defiant expression softening with the pang of hope she felt. Glancing sideways the Autumn King saw this and looked away again quickly.

“No, I suppose we'll have to make do with what we have.” Pointing at the Summer King the goblin continued, projecting his voice for all nearby to hear. “Whoever led the force against my citizens—my _unarmed_ subjects—will be produced,” He unfurled the fingers of his hand, “And handed over to Autumn for judgment.” He closed his fingers into a fist and drew it back to himself.

“Of—of course!” The Summer King stammered, trying to get a hold on the rapidly shifting situation. “There will be an investigation—an _immediate_ investigation! When—if—anything is discovered we will—ah, you will allow us time to do our work, I hope?”

“Oh, take all the time you need.” The Autumn King flung out a hand in an expansive gesture, his voice mocking in its geniality. “In the meantime I will make sure you have proper incentive to fulfill this task.”

His voice went flat and he jerked his head to the side when he said to the goblins holding Marianne:

“Take her.”

A burlap sack dropping over Marianne's head stifled her scream of rage and muffled her ears, cutting off her father in mid-sentence. “No, please! There must be some other--” And then she was drowning in burlap, ropes drawing around tight outside. Then, so close she could hear it clearly, a buzzing. Kicking and biting at the fabric of the sack she was too distracted for a few moments to place the noise, but as she was lifted off the ground she recalled the sound of dragonfly wings humming above the dancers at that Summer Ball.

Through the coarse weave of the sack Marianne could see the light grow bright, yellow and warm, and the temperature shifted and her ears popped. The Summer warmth faded from the burlap and Marianne could feel cool air. What had that looked like from the outside, Marianne wondered. Had the Autumn King and his entourage disappeared from sight, like a burst bubble? Or had the goblins ducked into a shadow and discreetly vanished?

The light went out and she was deposited on a floor that sounded wooden when her knees banged into it, the buzzing of dragonflies retreating into the distance. Large, clumsy hands began to pull at the bag and briefly the Summer Heir found herself upside-down and this did not help improve her mood. After a bit of muffled arguing among the goblins manhandling her another voice cut in. The words were indistinct but the tone was decidedly in the vein of “ _Must I do everything_ _myself_?” Marianne was righted and the bag began to open. While her hands were still pinned to her sides by the ropes on the outside of the bag she took advantage of knowing where her captor currently was and smashed her head where she estimated their head might be.

Light and pain burst over her simultaneously, the bag falling away from her head just as she cracked her head against something _hard_. She hit the floor with a thump, released by the goblin who had been holding her up. She thought she heard the thump of another body hitting the floor nearby so she kicked, the bag still around her legs, lashing out and up until she felt her burlap encased boots connect with something that felt possibly face-like.

Spangles of light faded from Marianne's vision and she found herself on the ground and just a few feet away the Autumn King who was likewise awkwardly sprawled. Coughing, he got to his feet in a way that indicated he was in a great deal of discomfort. He pressed one hand to his stomach and leaned on his staff, wheezing for breath. Somewhere in the background goblins were giggling. The king snapped his head around and cut them off with a glare. A jagged cut was dark across his chin.

Got him!

“You!” The king coughed, feeling the mark on his chin.

“Mmph.” Marianne said, struggling to get her wings and feet free of the bag.

“What did you hope to accomplish?” The king hovered and came forward. Marianne broke off her escape efforts, ready to kick again if he came near. “If you haven't _noticed_ you are surrounded.” The king swung his staff, indicating an impressive assembly of goblins. The effect was ruined a bit when he bent over coughing, wings faltering.

“And what were _you_ hoping to accomplish?” Marianne shot back, liberating one wing. “Threatening us! Trying to steal the children! You would have just put them in a bag and dragged them off like so many potatoes? You would have terrified them half out of their minds. Oh, wait, you already did that by sending your . . . your _hoard_ _of minions_ to chase them through the palace!” Marianne got the other wing free and flapped up high enough to kick the bag off her legs before putting her feet back on the ground, automatically falling into a defensive stance. “They are probably terrified right now and . . . and I'm not there.”

“Yes,” The king snapped, dropping back to the floor. “I've noticed. You are _here._ ”

“Maybe you should stop engaging with the prisoner?” A goblin sauntered over and patted the king on the shoulder. The king grunted and slammed the base of his staff against the overly familiar goblin's knee. The goblin dropped himself to the floor with more drama than was strictly necessary. “Ow. But my point still stands. Even if I don't.”

Marianne surveyed the area, patting the sticky patches on her face with the cuff of her sleeve. There was a throne perched up at the front of the room and it appeared to be made out of some sort of large animal bone. Throne room, then. Big doors behind her. Shut, of course. Windows. Guarded. The ceiling was made of glass, webbed with cracks like the weaving of a spider. No immediate escape.

Continuing her assessment of the situation Marianne noted that aside from the Autumn King and the goblin sitting on the floor the crowd was made up of only two general types of goblins. The small ones like Stuff and Thang, and the massive round ones that had held her down at the ball. There were none of those strangely dignified ones that had been in the delegation to Summer during the incident with the missing ring.

The goblin got up off the floor and stretched its arms, drawing Marianne's attention to the fact that he was missing his right arm from the elbow down. There was a crude metal prosthetic strapped to the stump of his shoulder with leather straps. It did not seem useful for day-to-day use but there was a sort of clamp at the end, probably to hold a weapon. A brief inspection of his left hand confirmed Marianne's suspicion that this must be Roderick, whose severed arm triggered the split between Summer and Autumn.

“You've got something, right there.” Roderick pointed at the king's chest. The king looked down without thinking and Roderick flicked his nose with one knobbly finger. Another blow from the king's staff sent Roderick sprawling again but the impudent goblin chuckled from the floor. “Couldn't resist!”

But there was blood on the edges of the king's armor. “That . . . isn't mine.” The king looked over at Marianne and saw her holding the sleeve of her coat against her face.

Marianne realized that the Autumn King was not wearing the usual waistcoat she had seen him in before. It had escaped her attention until now since the clothes had been almost the same color as his armor. Now she could see that the lines on his chest were not seams but the overlapping plates of armor. He was indeed armored from head to toe, which was no doubt why her head hurt so much now. It also accounted for the surprising amount of blood soaking into her sleeve, more than could be accounted for by the shallow puncture marks along her jaw.

Marianne examined the armor, searching for gaps and weak points that might prove useful in a later confrontation, but aside from his exposed throat she couldn't spot any. The king was staring back at her, looking like he wanted to say something, looking almost . . . concerned? Black wings flashed like the swirl of a cape as he whirled around, facing away from her.

“Get out! Get to work! We've sent out message and got our hostage, now get to work!” The king emptied the throne room with booming shouts and a few well-placed whacks with the head of his staff. One small goblin went flying several yards before landing and hitting the ground running. “We've got dead to bury,” He muttered to himself, wings flicking.

* * *

 

“What happened at the border three days ago?” Marianne asked on the way to the cell.

She followed meekly for the moment, trailing after the Autumn King, noting the length of the corridors, how many turns they took, where there were windows that looked breakable. While it was only the king escorting her that meant the only weapon in sight was the king's staff and she doubted she could wield that with any sort of effectiveness, it being such a long and off-balanced weapon. If she could even get it away from his death grip on it. And there was no way she could take the goblin in any sort of hand-to-hand. He had size and strength against her and all the usual weak points were negated by his armored skin.

 _For example_ , she thought, touching her face gently with the cloth the king had given her. After he had shooed everyone out of the throne room he had gotten the cloth from somewhere and thrust it into her hands without saying a word.

Her anger had banked down now that she knew the children were safe for the moment. Strangely, she felt more relaxed than she had in . . . just about years, really. Now she wanted to get to the bottom of this whole mess, find out the facts and see what could be done to turn the situation around. Fighting or negotiation, one way or another she would win her freedom with her own efforts. No one was going to rescue her, she'd make sure of that.

“Tch.” The Autumn King clicked his teeth together and flicked his wings and did not answer her question.

“What _happened_?” Marianne insisted. “If I'm to be held hostage I would be very much obliged if you would tell me _why_.”

“You _know_ why.”

“No I don't!” Marianne stopped walking. “All I know is that you smashed your way into our kingdom, terrorized the guests partaking of Summer's hospitality, threatened my family, and generally shouted a lot.”

“You're not here as an ambassador, princess.” The king rounded on her, leaning down to get in her face and point a claw.

“Why not?” Marianne slapped his pointing finger away with the back of her hand, spreading her own wings out in response to his posing. “Somebody ought to be. You said your supply train was attacked three days ago? How did the attackers get inside the border?”

The Autumn King looked at her, his hand still pointing off to the side where she had slapped it. He stumbled when caught off guard, Marianne noticed, not big on improvisation. Every time she had interrupted his script he had that same slack expression while he recalculated. When he finally decided on a new course of action his face darkened and he resumed his Terrible Autumn King act.

“Just—just get in the cell! I've enough to do without dealing with the whims of a fairy princess.”

The cell was well lit and beautifully heated. Marianne had not noticed how chilled she was in the sudden change of temperatures until she stepped into the warm room and began shivering in reaction. Her light Summer clothes were not adequate for an Autumn night. There were no windows in the cell, just tall wooden walls. There were bars fashioned from thorn black thorn branches and closed over those were heavy wooden doors. Simple but effective as far as containing prisoners went. There was a bed and some comfortable looking furnishings, all the right size for a fairy.

“How considerate. All the luxuries a prisoner could ever need. Is this a standard setup or are you making and effort for the heir to the summer kingdom? As if some scanty offering of physical comfort would appease me when I'm finally free. Do you expect me to look back and think, well, but they weren't so bad for party-crashing kidnappers who threatened your family?”

“I am showing you more consideration than was shown my people.” He replied, obviously stung.

“I don't even know what happened to your people! You were too busy threatening us to state your case and give us a chance to cooperate.”

“Cooperate? I do not expect cooperation from thieves and murderers!”

“By what right do you make these accusations? From the evidence given me to consider I can see only one thief in this room!” Marianne was practically on her tiptoes while the king was hunched further over than ever to get at her eye level.

“Evidence? You want evidence? The dead bodies littered on the border aren't enough for you? You think I would come and level these accusations if I were not certain? I do not want war but I cannot stand idly by while my people are murdered for sport!”

“Then present your case!”

“I don't answer to you!”

“I'm more useful as an ally than a prisoner, you realize? Convince me and I'll do everything I can to help get your people justice!”

“I don't need your help!” He stalked out of the cell and banged the bars shut.

“Yes you do!” Marianne called after him, “You idiot!”

And he was gone, both doors slammed shut behind him.

* * *

 

It was only a few minutes later when the key turned, opening the lock on the outside door. It did not open, but a polite knock was rapped against the wood. Obviously not the king, Marianne thought, pacing over to the door from where she had been kicking the walls to test their thickness. “Hello?”

“I'm here to take a look at your injuries.” The voice was young a female and not at all goblin-like. “May I come in?”

“Yeah.” The blood was stiffening in her stained sleeves and her throbbing face felt uncomfortably sticky. Cleaning up would be a good idea. She considered the idea of overpowering the medic and attempting immediate escape but after due thought that seemed ungrateful to the poor medic.

The door was dragged open and for a split second Marianne thought the king had come back when she saw the large clawed hand on the edge of the door. However it was only Roderick again, still smiling his insolent smile. From behind him a small figure stepped forward into the light and Marianne realized it was a fairy woman with green wings holding a kit of medical supplies in one arm and a chubby fairy baby in the other. The eyes of the two women met and there was a simultaneous exclamation:

“Princess Marianne!”

“Adeline!

Marianne flew up to the bars, dropping and folding her wings back as she grabbed the bars. “Adeline—you're--”

“Here?” Adeline said with a small smile, “I've kind of wondered what people thought might have happened to me.”

“Adeline, everyone thinks you died in childbirth and . . .” Her eyes wandered to the baby with its green and orange patterned moth wings, “And that your baby was stillborn. No one's wondered anything.”

Adeline's face took on a strange expression, not quite sure how to take this news. “I had better . . . your face.” She indicated the cuts on Marianne's forehead. The fairy handed her baby to Roderick who took it in his good arm in a way that suggested he was used to babysitting. He leaned in the doorway playing with the toddler while Adeline cleaned Marianne's cuts.

Marianne watched Adeline as she moved through the room, still trying to believe that it wasn't some trick of the imagination she was seeing. Small and delicate Adeline moved with an unconscious grace, but now she moved with purpose. Her eyes, clear gray, looked straight ahead, focused on the next task that lay before her. There was no time to stare at the floor, no time to smile when people looked at her. Look or not look, it was not her responsibility to reward them for acknowledging her. There was no smile at all, her face composed into austere lines that seemed more natural to her than the shy mask of happiness she had donned for the sake of others. Flowing hair was braided and pinned in a coil around her head, exposing the slender length of her neck and further emphasizing her petite and slender build. Around her eyes were fine lines. The rest of her face was smooth and untouched, but her eyes were old, seeming to be set a little further back in her head, a little more shadowed, and very much haunted.

“What happened, your highness?” Adeline asked, “Roderick told me the king was going to Summer to ask for justice.”

“It's just Marianne, please. And “demand” would be a better choice of word.”

“No doubt. But after what happened this week—you're lucky that they only took one hostage.” Roderick started giggling. Adeline shot him a sharp look and he coughed, restraining his merriment to a mere grin. Adeline returned to her work, “It's been pretty bad since the attack. I work as a nurse so . . . I've seen. How bad is it in Summer, Marianne?”

“The first we heard about any of this was just tonight. When the ballroom was overrun with armed goblins. If there are injured soldiers from our side— _if_ Summer was involved at all—we don't know about them. As for hostages, his majesty definitely planned to take more than one.”

Crossing her arms she dug her fingers into the fabric of her sleeves, trying not to think about the scared children and their narrow escape from abduction. This was not the time to be angry—though that seethed, ever present, within her—this was the time to gather information and plan her next move. Time to take control of the situation.

Roderick found it all amusing, bouncing the toddler until it chuckled happily. “That was the most fun I've had in ages! One fairy actually punched me! Definitely the best party we've had since this squabbling civil war started up, hands down. Oh, I'm Roderick, by the way.”

“I've met your better half.” Marianne replied dryly, trying not to move her face while Adeline worked.

“My better half . . .?” Roderick looked down at his prosthetic arm and burst into laughter when he got the joke. “Oh, that's a good one! I heard my wayward limb made quite the sensation over in Summer.”

Adeline washed the blood and dirt off Marianne's face and disinfected the wounds in the practiced way of a professional. Any questions Marianne raised about how Adeline had come to be here the young woman would not answer. Neither would she go into detail about the war Roderick mentioned or give any information about the incident that incited the events of the evening.

“I'm not supposed to tell you anything. The king told me not to. He was very firm on that point.” The recollection of talking face-to-face with the Autumn King made Adeline noticeably nervous and she smiled to try and disguise this. “My—our position here is a little delicate.” She looked over at her son.

“Oh, bosh, Addy.” Roderick scoffed, “My cousin gives you trouble and I'll push his head into the bog.”

“As if.” Adeline said, but her smile was more genuine now.

Marianne looked back and forth between fairy and goblin. “Are you two . . . together?” She asked, not sure how to phrase it tactfully.

“No.” The two in question said at the same time. They said it in the automatic and mildly exasperated way of people who have heard the same question far too many times. Neither one of them elaborated. Adeline just said, “I don't think you'll need any stitches, they are all very shallow. I could bandage it for you but I've also got an ointment that will do just as well. It gets firm but stays flexible. Goblins aren't much for bandages, you see. Some of them practically have to be tied down so they'll get some rest, always trying to keep moving and hit back at whatever hit them in the first place.”

“Sounds like you've been having an exciting time of it.” Marianne remarked, hoping to prod some details loose.

“Exciting enough.” Adeline applied the ointment, “There, you won't scar, I shouldn't think. Not that I usually have to reassure any of my patients about that.” She packed up her kit and stood by the door, picking at her lower lip. “Um. Princess . . . I mean, Marianne, when you go home . . . would you not mention you saw me?”

Marianne got off the bed and came over to Adeline. “What happened? What did Roland--”

“Just please don't. Promise?”

Roderick was leaning over Adeline protectively, his fierce expression at odds with his the care-free attitude he had displayed so far. She gave him a weary look, unimpressed, “Don't push it, lefty, I've had a long day. No, Adeline, I won't mention anything, if that's what you want.”

“Thank you.” Adeline whispered.

The door shut and the key turned in the lock. Marianne caught the sound of Roderick laughing as he walked away, saying, “'Lefty'! Hah!”

* * *

 

“Hey, my little stick bug,”

Griselda let herself into the study without bothering to knock. The Autumn King was rifling through a stack of books and papers and simply gave a rumbling growl in response to this intrusion. Undeterred his mother picked her way around the tables cluttered with maps and charts, clasping her hands together, “Anyway, I was just talking to this _lovely_ young girl that I want you to meet sometime. She would just be _perfect_ for you--”

“Not. Interested.”

“Her name is Maxine and she's into--”

“Busy right now.” The king found the book he was looking for and took it over to his desk, sitting down and flipping through the pages, steadfastly ignoring his mother. Her matchmaking efforts had begun the moment he turned eighteen and he had now endured ten months of it. One more blind date ambush and he would seriously consider matricide. Sometimes he pondered if it would be somehow possible to weaponize his mother and set her on the enemy.

“Work with me here, boy! I'm not gonna let you die sad and alone so you'd better get with the program.”

“This is time sensitive, mom, please.”

“So's this! I don't want to die before I've gotten some grandkids to comfort my old age.” She drew down her wide mouth and blinked up at her son, tiny black eyes filled with sadness. “You've gotta let love--”

One long arm snaked across the table and the king's fingers pinched his mother's lips shut. “One more word about . . . _romance_ ,” His nose wrinkled as he said the word, “or anything else on the subject and I will drop you out the window.”

“You work your fingers to the bone for them,” Griselda spoke out of the corners of her generously long mouth and her words were only slightly indistinct, “Give them the best years of your life and this is the thanks you get.”

“I am in the middle of something important. No more . . . of _this_ , understand?”

Griselda nodded. The moment she was released she asked, “How was the party?”

The Autumn King scrunched down and muttered something unintelligible in the vain hope that his mother would not press the issue.

“Because I've been hearing some stuff.” Griselda pulled herself onto the chair in front of her son's desk and continued, “Heard there were some little surprises along the way.” She scratched her chin. The Autumn King rubbed the cut on his chin and glowered wordlessly. “Fairies put up more of a fight than you expected, huh? Ah, but you got one hostage, right, and a pretty good one too. The heir to the Summer throne. Not bad, not bad. Maybe I should drop by her cell and say hello.”

“I wouldn't recommend it,” The king rumbled, “She'd probably bite you.”

“Hmm.” Griselda had wrung every last detail about the ball out of Stuff and Thang, including the lowdown about her son's duel with the Summer Heir. “Feisty girl, isn't she?”

The king looked at his cheerful mother and could not puzzle out what she was getting at. So he replied, deadpan, “Rabid.”

Griselda's smiled and nodded. “Well, I'm going to go check on dinner. Have fun with your storm clouds.” She hopped off the chair and pattered out of the room. The brevity of her visit was unexpected, but welcomed. For a few minutes a blessed quiet reigned in the king's study and he devoted his full concentration on the work before him. But the handle turned and the door creaked open.

“What is it _now_?” Only his mother never bothered to knock.

A knife slammed point first through a pile of papers next to his hand, biting into the wood beneath. Papers and folders scattered in the sweep of his arm snatching the staff that leaned against the side of his chair, snapping it up into defensive position. He looked around, ready for a fight, and found himself looking at a very exasperated Summer Heir.

Her face was clean from the coloring of blood and paint, replaced by livid cuts across her face and purplish bruising along her lower jaw. Aside from the knife she had buried in the desk she was holding another and had an unsheathed sword stuck through her belt. Drawing the sword now she said,

“I'm looking for the exit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look Adeline! How completely surprising that she is alive! Haha, whatever. I knew that this "plot twist" was super obvious from the word go, so . . . *shrugs* As for what the relationship is between Roderick and Adeline, we'll get into that a bit later on, but it isn't romantic.
> 
> Marianne doesn't really care much about injuries so long as they don't incapacitate her. Besides, as far as she sees things she was the victor in the two encounters that she was injured in. Bog blinked first. She smashed her head into his chest and knocked him down AND kicked his face. Really, she is having none of your goblin intimidation and posturing, thanks all the same.
> 
> Oh, yeah, Marianne is kidnapped instead of Dawn. The idea of that swap was the original seed from which this story grew, so I sometimes forget that's kind of a plot twist. But IS Dawn safe? *dramatic music* Because at some point we're going to go back and see what happened after the children were freed and fled the ballroom . . .


	15. Chapter 14: Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marianne doesn't really get the whole "prisoner" thing.

 The Summer Heir stood in the Autumn King's study with a drawn sword and a determined expression. The king had not counted on seeing her again until the ransom from her release was paid and he was having trouble grasping that she was actually standing in front of him. There were so many layers of security that should have prevented her from just walking into his study!

“I have been flying around this rotting log for at least two hours now.” The princess's words were deliberate and measured, combating an obviously repressed anger and frustration. “I was going to spare you some trouble and just leave, but apparently there are no exits! When I break a window it leads back into the same hallway!”

“That would be the labyrinth spell.” The king said, still catching up with current events and edging around so that the desk would not be between them and hamper his movements, “Why are you— _how_ are you even out of your cell? How _many_ windows?”

“The guard will probably have a headache when he wakes up,” the princess remarked, raising the sword and falling into a fighter's stance, following the king's progress around the room as they warily circled each other. “So I hear you've had a bit of a civil war going on. Troubles at home?”

The Autumn King cracked his neck and rolled his eyes, one side of his upper lip raising to show his teeth. He'd _told_ Roderick not to pass on any information! “A civil war caused by the theft of an amber passkey!”

“Oh, I doubt it was that simple,” The Summer Heir rolled her shoulders and flexed her fingers on the hilt of the sword, keeping herself limber as she waited for the first blow to be struck, “Civil wars never are. Maybe it was the spark to light the fire but there was already fuel ready and waiting to catch. The old guard refusing to go gracefully into retirement?”

“Hrm. Something like that.”

“Thought so. Disapproved of all this fraternizing with fairies, I have no doubt.”

“Something like that.” He agreed again, eyes flicking from her sword to her face. She didn't look angry, not like she had at the ball, but she looked _focused_ and that focus was aimed at him with all its intensity. This made him uncomfortable and he strove to regain control of the situation. “Which has nothing to do with why you are here! You are here until the murderers are handed over to us and then you can go home to your thieving husband.”

He practically _felt_ the flames burst into being in her eyes, the heat scorching him, radiating down her arms and through the blade that crashed into his staff with that surprising ferocity and strength. He was leaning backwards under the blow and they were face to face, their weapons crossed between them.

“He's not my husband!” The Summer Heir anger was back in full force and the king was not sure if that was better or worse than her intense focus. The latter was like being pinned under a magnifying glass, the former like being at the mercy of a raging forest fire.

“Your betrothed, then,” The king knocked her blade away, spun his staff in one hand, then brought it up to block her next strike. Seeing the subject was hitting a nerve he persisted, “Your yellow-headed consort in his useless heap of shining armor.” He clacked the sections of his shoulders in imitation of the clanking of fairy armor.

The Summer Heir just roared, slamming several ferocious blows at the king, both of them hovering above the cluttered study floor, papers stirred up in the breeze from their wings. Lightning fast, she kicked his staff to one side and brought the point of her sword up to his throat. “That shallow, power hungry, cheating, chattering piece of _filth_ is not my husband! He is not my fiancé! He is not my conspirator! He is not my _anything_!” Each exclamation brought the sword point up in a jab that pricked the unprotected skin of the king's throat.

“Oh.” The king digested this new information while looking down the length of the blade at the angry sincerity of the Summer princess. That put a . . . new angle on things. “Be that as it may--” He brought up his arm and knocked away the sword, the blade chipping off flecks of his exoskeleton and leaving a small white line. “Your kingdom has struck a blow in favor of war.”

“Funny, I don't remember that being on the last council agenda, not in old or new business. Hah!” She stabbed at his midsection and he sidestepped.

“I don't suppose it would be in the official record. Hah!” He swung at her feet and she shot up out of the way.

“Must be a very well-kept secret. So much so that not even the King of Summer himself has heard about it! Three days ago your people were attacked, inside your own border. Where, exactly? What were the wagons carrying?

“Amber, of course!”

“Amber?” The surprise in her voice was evident and her sword faltered, leaving her open on her right side. He lunged and her sword went flying out of her hand.

“Now, that's enough of--”

The king began to say, just before the princess's boots slammed into his stomach. Marianne rolled across the desk, reaching her hand behind it and snagging the sword, so when the king straightened up from his coughing fit she was once more posed to strike. For the moment they stood across from each other, shifting slowly in place, waiting for a threatening move from the other.

“They stole amber?” She continued, “That means they probably know what it can be used for. If they figure out how to enchant it . . . okay, I'm beginning to see why you're so upset about this.”

“Of course they know about the amber—you and your husband--” The king saw the way the Summer Heir tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword and he quickly amended, “You and that yellow captain told them!”

“I never told anyone.”

“What?” The staff lowered, but not enough to leave an opening for attack. The princess's assertion was a ludicrous one to make if she was lying.

“I never told anyone.” She repeated, “What good would it have done? There's no way to lock you out if you want to get in—trust me, I've looked for one—and unless we wanted to march on your kingdom, burn the thorns, and start a full on war . . . Of course I didn't talk about what I saw that night in the garden.”

“. . . . Impressive. If it's true.”

“You walked right into the Summer Palace. Right into the most well-protected place in the entire kingdom and I could do _nothing_ to stop you. I made a choice and hoped it was the right one. Hoping that if I left you alone you'd leave us alone, because if you decided to move against us . . . you'd win.”

“They why do you keep fighting?” The Autumn King wasn't sure if the princess was telling him the truth, but it really seemed too brazen and bizarre a lie to fabricate for the purposes of her defense. Lies were supposed to silence questions, not incite curiosity.

“Because I'm stubborn. Because I have to do something. So posture and threaten all you want, Autumn King, I'm not going to give in. You'll have to kill me first.”

“I wouldn't—I'm not—I don't want to kill anyone! I just want Summer to leave my kingdom alone!” He spun his staff but the end slammed against the side of a desk and flipped it over. He recovered just in time to parry the princess's blade. Frustrated and embarrassed he struck out hard, using his greater height and weight against the fairy. She was quick and light but she could not match his strength when he slammed the length of the staff against her, shoving her backwards into a table. Books thudded onto the floor, pages crumpling under the Summer Heir's boots as she tried to regain her footing and sort out her wings.

The Autumn King towered over her, shoulders hunched up on level with his head, forming his silhouette into a monstrous outline. “I want you to stop killing my people!”

“I want to help you!” The fairy kicked up, catching the staff with the sole of her boot and knocked it away. With the moment's respite that gave her she sprang to her feet and folded her wings back, once more on guard.

“Why would you care?” The king hissed.

“Roland is the only person I know of who has any knowledge of the amber's properties. He's captain of the guard and that means he has the power and influence to carry out a strike against Autumn—without the permission or knowledge of my father.”

They were circling again, passing over the upturned tables. Obviously the Autumn King did not know Adeline's history or he would not have assumed Marianne had married Roland. Autumn had been sealed off and so had the king's ears, it seemed—he wasn't listening and he didn't want to.

“So now you disavow the whole affair?” The king scoffed, spinning his staff in one hand and waving the other in an airy gesture. In response Marianne twirled her sword, hilt rotating in her deft fingers, blade flashing in its rotation.

“I rather do. If it was Roland and we can prove him responsible I'd gladly hand him over to Autumn for judgment.”

“And now you're selling out your conspirator to save yourself? Tch.” The king rolled his eyes.

“For the love of—I don't want your amber! All I want is for you to leave us all alone!”

“That is what _I_ have been saying! Yet you Summer fairies refuse to leave us in peace. So go back to your cell and wait for your father to pay the price of your release so we can all go back to ignoring each other.”

“As easy as that?”

“Well, it would be if you lot didn't have such sticky fingers! Have we bothered you? Has Autumn done anything to Summer even _once_ in these past few years? Have we _ever_?”

“Abduction of the Winter Heir,” Marianne shot back, “Attempted abduction of Summer royalty, _successful_ abduction of the Summer Heir during an invasion of our court.”

“All of which have been in response to the hostile actions of Summer! And if I had “attempted” to take anybody it would have happened, that's a fact. You think stabbing your sword at shadows would scare me off?”

Every time he mentioned that night, every time he confirmed that he had nearly taken a member of her family . . . Marianne's emotion warred between terror and fury. She wanted to strike out, stop him, protect her family, fight back against the nightmares of the last two years. She hated being helpless and she wanted action. Did he say that to enrage her, trip her up so she'd make a mistake? They had been circling each other for some time now, no blows being struck. Was he trying to force her into making a move?

Well, it worked. She roared and charged.

The door burst open and two small goblins burst in. One of them, yellow and somewhat fishy looking, rapped perfunctorily on the door as he trundled into the room. “Sire, we've got a message!” He said with bright eagerness. The other goblin, green, round and squat, added in a gravely voice, “News from the mushrooms, sire!”

Marianne flinched at the door opening, stopping short in a rapid flapping of wings, so did the King, but his staff was already arching and Marianne failed to deflect, her sword smacked out of her hand. The king looked as surprised as she felt, but recovered quickly and set down, stamping a clawed foot on the sword. Ignoring the messengers, king and princess looked at each other, breathing unsteady, her eyes glimmering with anger and resentment, the king displaying a smirk of satisfied triumph.

“Back to your cell, princess, and let's have no more of this.”

“Um?” Said the yellow goblin, drawing the gazes of the combatants. Marianne now recognized the messengers as Stuff and Thang, the goblins who had delivered the Autumn King's letters and played with Iona. The weedy little goblin asked nervously, “Um, did we interrupt something?”

“No, for once your timing was perfect.” The Autumn King extended an arm, indicating the door to the Summer Heir, bowing in imitation of courtly courtesy. The princess's mouth twisted in distaste, but she marched out the door with her head up and back straight. 

* * *

 

The king looked at the twisted piece of metal the guard handed him. It had once been a gold crown of some kind but now it had been torn and bent into a rough spike, the two ends sharpened into soft points. Scratches on the door showed where the princess had picked the lock. More scratches showed where she had pried out the ball of amber set into the door, which should have sent her right back into her cell if she stepped more than a few feet down the corridor. That explained how she had gotten out, but how had she found him? The labyrinth should have led her in circles until the guards caught up with her.

This question was soon answered when the king listened to a report of how many guards had been knocked unconscious, tied up, and wedged behind furniture. Closing his eyes the king inhaled deeply and tried not to grind his teeth. Of course, the labyrinth spell was supposed to lead escaped prisoners right to the guards and if the escapee kept taking the guards out of play the spell would default to sending her to the highest authority: the king.

This flaw in the spell's design had never been an issue before and there was no time to modify it now. The Autumn King had the princess put in a different cell—first making sure her pockets were empty—and doubled the guard.

* * *

 

Adeline returned with her medical kit. Roderick leaned in the doorway again while the baby pattered around the floor, climbing up and down off the bed to play hide and seek under his mother's wings as she sat on the bed and tended to the new scratches and scrapes Marianne had accumulated in her escape.

Adeline was rather stern. “Do you know how many bumped heads I've had to tend to today? If goblins weren't built to take a few knocks on the skull you might have done serious damage. Oh, I oughtn't have told you that.”

“You can see her eyes light up with evil intent.” Roderick remarked. On the bed the baby flapped his wings at the goblin and bared his teeth, clawing the air with stubby baby fingers. Roderick crossed his eyes and flapped his wings back, making the baby giggle so hard it fell over on the mattress. “She'll hit harder next time, just you wait.”

“Giving the medics more work to do.” Adeline frowned, her thin face full of disapproval, “You and the king are being such _children_. Why doesn't he just have you sit down and talk?”

“What do you think I'm trying to do? The only way to get him to listen is to hit him in the head.” Marianne grumbled. “I tried to leave but the labyrinth spell stopped me. None of the doors lead where they're supposed to and the windows are outright frauds. How do you all get about if the rooms are swapping around all the time?”

“Passkeys.” Roderick tapped the ring on his left hand against the wall. The baby ran over to grab at it and ended up swinging off of Roderick's hand.

“You got that back, then?” Marianne nodded at the ring. “After all the . . . fuss.”

“Hah, no way!” Roderick picked up the baby and settled him against his shoulder. The baby grabbed at the long nose now within reach. “That was my dad's ring. I wasn't even supposed to have it. Naw, this is mine, given to me with great reluctance by my cousin because he needs all the allies he can get.”

“Roderick.” Adeline said warningly.

“Aw, Addy, what'll it hurt for her to know?”

“You'll get in trouble again. I'm tired of putting stitches in your face.”

“It's mostly higher goblins that are opposing the king.” Roderick continued with blithe recklessness. “That leaves us with a lot of hobgoblins, trolls, and such. Loyal and strong, but not a lot of leadership skills.” He tapped his forehead, which made the baby reach up and grab the two stubby horns set on either side of Roderick's head.

Marianne could see Adeline becoming more distressed and asked, in an attempt to soothe, “What's his name?” She indicated the baby. The little fairy would be somewhere around eighteen months old, Marianne calculated.

“William.” Adeline said with a smile.

“Gwill.” Roderick said.

“Gwill!” Said Gwill.

Adeline looked defeated. “Roderick is a compulsive nick-namer.” She remarked with the air of a long suffering martyr. “Half the reason he's always in trouble with the king is all the disrespectful names Roderick calls him.”

“The way his face scrunches up is a delight to behold. Like he bit into a lemon. Positively no sense of humor, honestly. If I had the hand to spare I would salute you, princess, for that real prize you flung out at the ball. How did it go? “Scaly-backed cockroach”?”

For some reason this praise displeased Marianne and she frowned, muttering, “Yes, and you're a fluff-brained moth.”

“Fluff!” Gwill exclaimed.

* * *

 

Adeline and family departed, leaving Marianne to a half hour of thoughtful meditation in quiet solitude before she decided on her next move and set to work.

All doors have hinges, Marianne thought, fluttering into the air to get the height and angle necessary for her next maneuver. Both her feet slammed against the hinged side of the closed cell door and the wood gave way. The weight of the now sagging door dragged on the lock, twisted it out of its socket.

The guards were distracted by the door falling in long enough for Marianne to dart out of the cell and hover by the lintel where a piece of amber was embedded. It would distort the corridor and lead her immediately back to the cell, as she had discovered on her last escape, if she didn't take it out of play. With a pair of scissors taken from Adeline's medical bag—without the nurse's knowledge—she prised the stone loose. It fell into her hand, barely the size of one of her fingertips, and she threw it as far as she could. The yellow stone glinted, bouncing across the floor and disappearing into the shadows.

Now, Marianne soared toward the nearest door, to play tag with the guards. The door opened and led into an empty room with no other way out. But Marianne entered and slammed the door shut, pulling it open again to reveal a different hallway, one empty of goblin guards.

She repeated this procedure with several other doors and windows. Through the windows she could see the moonlit gloom of the forest, but as soon as she broke the glass and climbed through she would find himself still inside the castle. The spell was obviously supposed to lead her into the path of the guards, but if she was quick enough she could avoid them altogether this time, slamming the door in their faces and whisking herself automatically off to some other corner of the castle.

Eventually she opened a door and found herself in the throne room. By this time she had ended up confronting a handful of guards and equipped herself with their weaponry. It had been hard to find a suitable sword. Marianne had made do with knives and sticks until she managed to find a goblin wielding a sword that met her standards and lure him into a fight.

She had entered the throne room from a small door to the side of the throne and she found convenient cover in the tree that branched out behind the throne, taking a moment to scout the area. Nobody was present, so far as she could see, so she made a dash for the shadowy alcoves against the wall where she would still be concealed and have a good view of the dais.

From her hiding place Marianne had a clear view of the throne room and she took this time to study it carefully. There were those tantalizing doors again, so large and so very, very closed and barred. The cracked glass that took up most of the wall opposite the throne might be a way out, but it would hardly be a subtle exit and it would be gamble if she could break through and make a run for it before she was caught. Would the labyrinth spell extend to even that massive piece of glass? Imagine breaking through all that and finding yourself in some tiny hallway instead of in the freedom of the forest. Hanging from roots on the wooden part of the ceiling were glowing orange lamps in spiked metal frames, providing the dim room with vague light and deep shadows.

The rustling of wings alerted Marianne to the king's arrival. She settled further back in her hiding place and wrapped her hand around the hilt of her sword. The Autumn King crossed the room and as Marianne watched it occurred to her that he _fitted_ into this gloomy background or neither light nor dark. He had looked out of place in the brightness of the Summer Ball, and nearly invisible in the darkness of the playroom he had been terrifying. Here he might stand against the wall and disappear, blending into the background, safe and hidden.

Goblins liked to be hidden. Invisibility was safety. And yet the throne sat above everything else in the room, back lit and visible from all angles, a ceiling of glass angled across from it, letting in the moonlight. A king, she supposed, showed his strength by daring to be seen. Which made the Autumn King's first visit to Summer so impressive, and his subsequent ones less so. In the darkness of the playroom, the solitude of the garden . . . then a show of bravado and intimidation by storming the party and spot lighting himself.

“Hi!”

The voice blared out and Marianne jumped in surprise, smacking her head against the back of the alcove. But the screeching voice was not addressing her. The Autumn King, who had flown to the base of the steps and was stalking toward the throne, abruptly turned and began to head in the other direction. A purple goblin, taller than Stuff and Thang, but still vastly smaller than the king, popped out with a wide, cheery grin, waving a hand to get the king's attention.

“Mom, no!” He snapped.

“Aw, you've got a minute before those old worrywarts show up.” Marianne winced at the sound of the goblin's voice as it grated in her ears. “Now I've got someone here you've just _got_ to meet! C'mere, Flo!” She waved at someone out of sight to come forward.

“Mother, it is the middle of the night.” The king's weary voice seemed to indicate that this harassment was commonplace. Mother? Marianne thought, That's his mother? The Summer Heir had to bite down on her thumb to keep from laughing out loud as the king went on, “I've got an emergency meeting in five minutes, _go away_.”

But another goblin had already appeared. It buzzed up on tiny wings, looking like a cross between a fly and a flea, with straw-like legs dangling beneath it as it flew. It paused by the Autumn King's mother and raised a couple legs in shy greeting, giving a strange little high-pitched buzz that sounded like a coy, “Hello!”

“ _Not now_.” The king walked past his mother and the flea. The flea's faceted eyes seemed to shimmer with tears and it gave a few vibrating sobs as it zipped out of the room.

Marianne had clamped one hand over her mouth to contain her mirth. The king's mother was trying to set her son up on a date! How often had Dawn down that very same thing to Marianne, pulling some nice young fairy gentleman up to introduce to her sister, saying something along the lines of, “Here's someone you've just _got_ to meet!” Or “So-and-so would just be _perfect_ for you!” The look on the king's face right now, of someone inches away from strangling a well-meaning family member, was the same look she had felt on her face many times in the recent months.

“Ah,” the king's mother flapped her hands as she left, “I'm not giving up.”

The king sat in his throne and Marianne could no longer see him clearly, only able to make out the skinny length of his legs, but she was pretty sure she could see his wings twitching in a shudder.

A group of goblins entered and from the way the king address them she discerned they were councilors and advisors of some sort. The councilors she could see in profile and she assumed they must all be “high” goblins. All of them were about the same height as the average fairy rather than the diminutive size of hobgoblin scouts or massive bulk of the brutes. They wore robes of earthy tones that were more obviously for decoration than any sort of practical wear, probably a sign of rank and office.

To her luck and delight they began to discuss aspects of the recent border incident. Not a straightforward summary but she was able to piece together the basic narrative from the information she gathered eavesdropping. The councilors were there, at this absurd hour, to report the death of another victim, succumbing to his wounds, and reiterate a demand for swift action. The use of a hostage as leverage would be very little if outright war were declared and Summer decided to storm Autumn.

“We must show them that our threats are not empty! If we kill a few of their own then perhaps they'll realize we are not without fangs.”

“That would not stop the killing, it would only incite more!” The king growled, tapping the arm of the throne with his claws. “We are not here to discuss starting a war. You are here to report on the status of the injured, so report!”

The discussion of the incident continued and Marianne's mirth faded away and she began to feel a little sick. The numbers they were tossing out, how many dead and dying, were far higher than she had anticipated. This wasn't like before, a squabble between overzealous guards and drunken goblins. What was being described was a slaughter of unarmed civilians over a cartload of amber. Crouched down in her hiding spot, leaning on the sword planted in front of her, Marianne considered her newly gleaned information. It seemed to be as simple as the Autumn King had claimed: fairy soldiers invaded Autumn, killed the goblins escorting the wagons and stole the amber. A calculated strike with a clear goal.

The high goblins kept pushing the idea of war, sliding in subtle insults about cowardice, implying the king could not protect his people. They wouldn't stop and the king's voice became more and more of a strained growl, claws digging into the armrest of his throne. Marianne felt rather angry herself, at these self-serving politicians looking to use the attack to push forward their own agenda. They were clouding the main issue with their uncooperative attitude—how to deal with the attack in a way that wouldn't lead to outright war? Really, wasn't a civil war enough for these people? Marianne pushed herself further back in her nook and out of sight so she could concentrate on listening without worrying about being spotted peeping around the edge of the alcove.

The session concluded with a lot of shouting, all done by the Autumn King. The high goblins left in such a hurry that Marianne surmised that their accusations of cowardice did not stem from an actual belief that the king was scared. It was simply a tactic to enrage their king into foolish action, pressure him into making a hasty decision in their favor. In truth it seemed that they were the ones scared—of the king's wrath.

A distant door boomed shut behind the goblins' hurried exit, the sound mixing with the dying echoes of the Autumn King's rage. Both faded away to silence. Marianne heard the king sigh deeply and she risked a look. The king had risen from his throne when he began shouting, wings and body taut with anger. In the apparent solitude the king's ragged edge wings relaxed into tired folds, tall frame slumping. He set his staff down against the side of his throne before going to sit on the steps below the dais, leaning his forehead on his hands and grumbling softly under his breath.

He was dealing with a lot. Trying to hold together his kingdom in the middle of a civil war. Summer attack his people must have been the final straw. In some ways she had to admire how restrained his response to the attack had been. He may have kidnapped her, and nearly kidnapped a dozen other royals, but he had not killed anyone. No one had even been hurt, so far as she knew. In a strange sort of way he was being unexpectedly honorable.

Marianne reviewed her situation. She had gotten the information she wanted—albeit by shameless spying—and was convinced that Autumn had a legitimate complaint against Summer. The question was what to do next? Approach the king and try and talk like sensible people? Marianne's face screwed up like she had tasted something horrible. No, that never worked. And she was still mad about the king nearly kidnapping her entire family.

Metal sounded on stone, the staff slid across the arm of the throne and fell, skittering to just where the king sat. He looked up and found the Summer Heir stepping out from behind the throne, sword in her hand.

“Taking a little break?” She asked, eyebrows arched in questioning mockery.

“Hmf!” The king snorted, snatching up his weapon and rising to his feet in time to dodge her. She stabbed several times in rapid succession so that he had to dance from side to side to avoid being impaled. When the princess struck he blocked with his staff and pushed back to unbalance her, but she harnessed the force to jump up and over him, landing with her feet slotted into the holes in the back of the throne.

For a moment the king could not locate her, then the flutter of wings caught at the corner of his eye. He turned and darted past the throne, using the tree that grew behind the throne for cover. The princess followed, perching in a fork of the tree, bringing her sword down toward his head. He dodged, her sword biting into the wood of the tree, splinters flying.

“Whoa!” He said at the near miss, more in admiration than in worry. The Summer heir was so fast! Cooped up in the small space of his study both of them had curtailed their movements, fearing to slam up against a wall or knock into a shelf. Here, in the high-ceilinged throne room there was endless space to maneuver on the ground and in the air and the fairy was taking full advantage of it.

Stuff and Thang popped up. “Need any help, sire?” their offer was eager and sincere, unlike the goblin at the Summer Ball, Marianne noticed, struggling to free her sword from where it had lodged in the tree. “No!” The king said, almost casual in his dismissal, except his voice was rather high. He was still facing the goblins when she wrenched her sword free, but he swung his staff around without looking and deflected her just as she raised her sword. “Okay!” Thang said, “But we've got a message for you when you're not so busy.”

A flurry of blows and both of them took to the air, circling in flashes of bright and dark wings. Looking for an edge Marianne perched on one of the massive spiky lanterns hanging on the ceiling on woody vines. The king perched on another and they dueled, trying to use the wild swinging to their own gain, kicking and pushing at each other's perches, attempting to put each other off balance. He had the advantage with his longer and stronger legs, but she compensated for it, her smaller frame making it easier to shift her balance and keep her footing.

“Impressive!” The king remarked with a condescending smile, “I've been meaning to ask, when did you pick up this new hobby?”

“When I was about six and my mother gave me my first sword.” Marianne replied over the clatter of their weapons, shifting her body to balance the swinging of the chandelier, wings flapping in quick measured beats. “Recently I've had cause to brush up.” Her blade met his staff and she was thrown back by the force, the chandelier swinging to the length of its tether and almost into the wall. She let go of it and rebounded off the wall, flying straight for the king. She sliced the tether of his light and he jumped free, the light smashing into the floor below. Stuff and Thang, who were watching the proceedings with great interest, dodged out of the way just in time.

“What about you?” they hovered, legs dangling, “You been doing this sort of thing long?”

“Long enough.” the king replied, “Why?”

“Oh, I don't know,” Marianne dodged and dived down, the king following and both of them hit the ground at the same time. She parried a blow from his staff one-handed, briefly examining her nails in a bored manner, “I was just expecting--” She turned on him and there was a whirlwind of bright wings and dull armor, colors blurring together in the rapid-fire exchange of blows, “More.” She looked up at him, mocking, challenging.

He looked a little insulted and completely taken aback. She couldn't help but observe how transparent his unguarded face was, his sharp features rippling and contorting to display his thoughts. Determination set his face and he charged.

In the ballroom their fight had been angry and so much was on the line. She had to protect her family, he could not be shown up in front of his people. In the study they were frustrated and confined to a small space while they picked at each other's sore spots. Here, no one of importance was watching—Stuff and Thang were not the type to judge or tell tales. Nothing was on the line except perhaps their pride. This was _fun_.

Marianne was nearly laughing when they pulled away, “Is that all you got?” She waved her hand dismissively, enjoying his disconcerted face. In a moment their weapons met and locked above their heads and they were face to face without anything between them. “I really don't understand what you're trying to accomplish here, princess, but this may be the most entertaining assassination attempt I've ever had.”

“I'm not trying to assassinate you!” Marianne snorted, “I'm trying to talk to you.”

“Oh, is that so?” But he was smirking in a lopsided sort of way, some of the lines on his face softened.

“Yes.” Marianne said. “That's so.”

They realized they were still locked, weapons above their heads, faces inches away from each other, and abruptly broke away. Marianne fell into a stance and the king pulled back and mirrored her movements, staff held over his head, other arm held out parallel, fingers posed. “Cut that out!” She huffed.

“Do all fairies fight so pretty?” He teased.

“I suppose when your idea of fighting is to club things until they stop moving, swordsmanship would seem a little complex.”

“What makes you think I don't know how to use a sword?”

“Do you know, I actually hadn't stopped to ponder. Can you?”

“Of course!”

“Interesting.” Marianne lunged, but the king side-stepped and the point of her sword dragged down his staff and caught in the wire cage that bound the amber to the head of the staff. King and princess were pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, her hair brushing against the leafy ridges on his forehead. His bright blue eyes turned in the dark sockets of his face to look at her, one hand holding his staff steady, the other lifted in a casual way. “Look at you!” He said in the most cheerful and condescending way possible, setting Marianne's teeth on edge.

Her sword was trapped, try as she might to wrench it free, both hands wrapped around the hilt, face creasing with concentration. His condescending tone irked her and she looked at him, teeth bared. She'd be drawn, quartered, and hung by her heels before she let him beat her! She pulled down. He pulled back and she let go, sword flying into the air in shimmering cartwheels. He held his staff aimed at her throat, triumph in his eyes.

She grabbed the staff, just under the head, jerked it forward, making the king stumble, jumped over the staff and kicked the king in the chest. Flipping around, she blinded him with her wings so he gave a wild swing too low, and she flipped heels over head, landing on her feet in time to extend a hand and catch the sword by the hilt and point it at his throat.

“Not bad!” But his cocky tone was interrupted by a cough, “Why do you keep kicking me in the chest?” He complained.

“The rest of you is too skinny to aim for properly.”

“Humph! I thought you said you wanted to talk, tough girl.” He was standing up straight, for once, his head tilted back and away from the point of the blade, eyes looking down past his nose at the fairy princess, so tiny by comparison.

“I did. I wanted to begin by . . .” She pulled the sword away and stepped back, out of her fighting stance. She held the sword across her open hands and offered it to the king, “By apologizing to you.”

He had not looked so stunned when she kicked him in the chest. Not even when she had punched him in the jaw. Staff still pointed at the floor, he had not moved except for his eyes widening and his mouth falling open, he looked at her in complete bafflement. For some time he just _stared_ , his guard completely down. Marianne just held out the sword a little further, hoping this gamble would pay off.

He reached out and gripped the sword by the blade, holding it gently enough so that the sharp edge did not injure the tough skin of his hands. The Autumn King looked at her from under puzzled brows. “Why? What do you . . . what do you have to apologize for? Except for repeated kicking, that is.”

Marianne could not help but notice his accent was thicker than she had ever heard it before, and suppressed a smile. “For letting my anger get the better of me. For being so busy proclaiming my innocence and blamelessness that I forgot that your people have been attacked—killed. It must be Roland and even though he did this without the knowledge of the crown . . . he's still of Summer and part of my responsibility. It's my job to prevent this sort of thing and I failed you. You and your people, and I'm sorry for that. This can't be . . . this can't be _fixed_ , but I can make reparations, if you'll allow me to.”

“But you didn't . . . you didn't do this, did you?”

She had caught him off guard again. How did she keep doing that? Was she doing it on purpose? From the moment they had met she had taken him by surprise, holding out a willing hand in friendship to the terrible, worthless Autumn King. Tonight, sacrificing herself to save her family. Refusing to be a prisoner, a hostage, a victim. He saw the bruises on her jaw and neck. After he had done _that_ and _she_ apologized? She disregarded that entire incident, holding no rancor over the cuts and bruises, because, he realized, she had won that battle.

Marianne watched his face, examining in properly for the first time that night. She had spent all night watching his expressions, anticipating his next move, that she had not really looked at his face as a whole. His tired face with new lines and scars that had not been there two years before. He had been fighting a war. Had that quip about assassination attempts been only a quip or an allusion to a fact of life?

“But I . . .” He gestured at his own jaw, “And your family . . “

“I'm not saying you don't have a lot to apologize for, too,” She folded her arms, “I'm just admitting my own shortcomings.” She looked at him pointedly, hoping he would get the hint that it was his turn to apologize.

“I . . . uh . . .” He had shifted his grip on the sword to the hilt, but now both his hands were full and he made a futile attempt to reach up and rub the back of his neck.

“Sire, sire!” Thang trembled with bright energy as he signaled to the king. Stuff stood a little ways back, conveniently out of the staff's range. “Are you still busy?”

“ _What is it_?” The king rolled his eyes toward the ceiling as if searching for divine intervention to extract him from his impossible lot in life.

“Someone's broken into the basement levels, sire.”

“How can they have broken into the _basement_? It's underground!”

“Warning spells have been tripped,” Stuff said, “There's definitely somebody down there.”

“Go to the basement, take Brutus, and wait outside of it until I get there.” The king stabbed the sword into the floor so he could reach up and pinch the bridge of his nose and try to calm the headache that was beginning to pound at the inside of his skull. If it wasn't one thing than it was another. “If,” He exhaled the word in a long sigh, “If I asked you to wait for me in the study, Summer Heir, would you?”

“Not in a cell, Autumn King?”

“I think we've established that I mere bars can't stop you.”

“But a study door can?”

“I'm not trying to stop you. I'm not sure an entire army could stop you. And since I haven't an army to spare just now I'm going to throw myself on your mercy and ask you to please just wait in the study. While I go find out which particular bit of my kingdom is falling apart now.”

“I'll wait in the study. Would it be pushing it to ask for my sword back?”

“Yes, I think it would be.”

* * *

 

The study was still a mess. The desk had been righted, but papers lay in loose piles on the floor, books face-down with their pages crumpled, and the footprints of boots and clawed feet marking everything. Marianne cleared off the chair behind the desk and sat in it. It had been built for the king and could have probably fit three of her without crowding. Well, she settled into the cushioned back of the chair, things were finally getting somewhere.

The door to the study was not locked—Marianne had checked—and there was only one guard outside, a beaked hobgoblin with a no-nonsense attitude. He was only there to make sure nobody bothered the Summer Heir while she awaited the Autumn King's convenience.

Eyes flicking idly around the room, Marianne noticed an odd chart on the wall. Standing up in the chair, she spread her wings and flew over to look at the chart, hovering off the ground because the chart had been placed for the viewing ease of the king. It was a map of the border, which was not odd, but it was scribbled with notations about the weather. There were date and times marked and most of them were from within the last few hours. With the quick travel of amber portals it must be easy to find out what the weather was like on the other side of the forest, but why would you need to?

Now Marianne looked at the books nearby and picked one up, feeling the crack leather of the cover and wincing at the crumpled yellow pages, damaged in the fight. The date marked in the flyleaf made her do a double take. This book had been written before the Spring Invasion, it had survived the burning of the libraries. Horror washed over her. She had trampled all over a priceless treasure! A priceless treasure the Autumn King had sitting around his study like any old reference book, she realized. In fact, many of the books laying around her had similarly yellowed pages.

When the Autumn King returned to his study he found the Summer Heir curled up in his chair, stacks of books piled on the desk before her. It flitted briefly through his mind that he was lucky she hadn't gone through his paperwork. As it was he was glad that she did not seem to notice how long he had been gone.

Marianne looked up when the door opened and watched the Autumn King enter and shut the door quickly behind him. He was holding his staff in front of him, clutching it in both hands, and he looked . . . frazzled. She felt strangely glad to see him. “Finally!” She said, shutting the book she had been leafing through, “You took your time--”

“Princess,” The king interrupted, fingers dancing up and down his staff, “You, ah, are probably going to try and kill me in a minute.”

“Okaaay,” Marianne shifted and sat properly in the chair. His body language was telling her that the king was nervous, but the biggest tell was how thick his accent was getting. She tried not to get distracted by the interesting way he rolled his Rs. “And why would that be?”

“Just . . . just, first . . . I'm sorry. For threatening your family, for kidnapping you . . . for being so bloody stupid.”

“Something's wrong.” Marianne flew out of the chair and over to the king, looking down at him for a change. “What's happened? Is the Summer army here already?” Images of thorns burning, brilliant in the darkness of night, flew into her mind.

“No, no, not that.” He looked off to the side. He looked _embarrassed_. “But I am sorry, I want you to know that. My kingdom has been wronged, but it doesn't justify my actions. I've . . . done the wrong thing, made a right mess of everything.” The genuine sincerity in his apology scared Marianne a little because she didn't know how to deal with it. She had been fighting for so long she had forgotten to plan for the possibility of her opponent surrendering.

“Does this mean you're letting me go?” Marianne wasn't so certain that she actually wanted to leave just yet. There was a lot of work to be done to sort out the tangle of recent events. “No more hostage nonsense? No strings attached? We'll do things properly, like sensible people?” Her heart sank at the idea of being sensible. Sensible was boring.

“No more hostages.” The king agreed, “That tactic really hasn't been . . . working out.”

“Then negotiations to sort out this business start right now.” Marianne dropped to the floor and stuck out a hand. “I am the official representative of Summer and will be staying until this is affair is settled to everyone's satisfaction. Agreed?”

The king unwound the fingers of his right hand from its grip on his staff and reached out, with extreme hesitation, toward the offered hand. He had not touched her since he had grabbed her by the chin and forced her head up to look at him during the ball. Their weapons had clashed repeatedly this evening, but somehow that was different. That was equal, that was fair. Taking her hand in his, covering her tiny fingers with his huge rough ones, it felt wrong. He glanced at the bruised skin of her face, the cuts on her forehead, and wondered how she could stand to look at him.

“Are you always going to be scared to take my hand?” The Summer Heir demanded, “You look as frightened as you did when I asked you to dance.”

“I wasn't _frightened_.” The king retorted automatically. He took her hand, unable to back down from the challenge in the princess's eyes, but exerted only the lightest pressure. The Summer Heir had no hesitation and grasped his hand with a strength that amazed him. Such a small creature shouldn't be so strong, to look at him with that fearless gaze . . . especially not after he had hurt her.

“You were nearly petrified.” Marianne insisted. “Which is why I was so impressed at the time. You were scared and came in spite of it.”

“ _Impressed_?” His voice pitched upwards.

“Yes. Now, getting back to the subject of why I'm going to try and kill you . . .?”

“Yes. That. Um.” He looked down at their hands, still clasped, and his thoughts derailed.

“Sorry.” She took her hand away and reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear.

“No problem.” The king ran his hand over the back of his neck. “Um. Yes, this way.”

The door opened on a different hallway than the one Marianne had walked down earlier. The beaked hobgoblin was gone and a large blue goblin was there instead, standing by a closed door. She glanced at the king's staff and raised an eyebrow. “Passkey?”

“Roderick needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.” The king grumbled, but his heart wasn't in it. There was a sword leaning against the wall. It wasn't hers, but it looked to be the right size and balance for her. The king picked it up and held it out to her. “You'll want that in a moment.”

“What is going on?” Marianne took the sword and put her fist on her hip, “If the Summer army isn't attacking and you've agreed to work with me, then what could possibly be wrong and why would I want to kill you?”

“I'll explain,” The king held up his hands, staff and all, in a gesture of surrender, “Just two things first. The first is: _I didn't do this._ ”

“Whatever _this_ is.” Marianne huffed, “And the second?”

“That I hope you have a strong stomach.” He turned to the door across from them and jerked it open.

An explosion of blue, pink, and yellow rammed into Marianne and proceeded to try and crush her. “Marianne!” A familiar voice cried, “Oh, Marianne, you've got to help me!”

“Dawn!” Marianne pulled free of her sister's embrace and held Dawn at arm's length. Yes, it was her younger sister, still in her party dress, but looking dusty and disheveled, pink wings streaked with dirt. Rage crackled in Marianne's eyes and she pushed her sister behind her and shot a scorching glare at the Autumn King. He was crumpled over his his predatory stance, eyes shadowed.

“Marianne!” Dawn's arms snaked around from behind Marianne and circled her neck in an affectionate stranglehold. “You've really got to help me!” She was giggling. Marianne craned her head around to try and get a look at her sister. “What?”

Dawn whispered, loud enough to be clearly heard by all present, “I really want to boop his nose and I don't think I can help myself!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Straight on For You is a marvelous scene, truly cinematic perfection, and I will never do it justice, but here we go!
> 
> Surprise, it's Dawn! And, yes, she is totally love potioned. How did she get there? How did she get dusted? Next chapter we flash back and find out.
> 
> So much to say, but I'm kind of in the middle of an exhaustion based break down, so, good night.
> 
> Oh, thanks to thepraxianweasleygeek.tumblr.com. They and their sister are responsible for naming Bog's cute little fly/flea suitor "Flo".


	16. Chapter 15: Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What else happened at the ball . . .?

_Earlier that Night_

 

The Autumn King was tired, with many worries pressing on his mind, and he could feel soreness caused by sparring with the Summer Heir begin to creep into his muscles. Yet despite all of this he was nearly in a good mood. The Summer Heir, even after everything he had done, once more held out a hand in friendship. Now she waited back in the study, ready to listen and be listened to. She had not been involved in this attack on Autumn. Knowing that, knowing that he had an ally in her, lightened his heart considerably. For the first time in a long time he felt he had done something _right_.

Flying down the stairs to the castle's lower levels the Autumn King was realizing exactly what part of the basement had been apparently “invaded”. It had been three or four years since he had come down here, shortly before he had the whole section sealed off for the sake of safety. Uneasiness rose in his chest for several reasons, the chief one being that it should have been impossible for this area to be breached. Aside from being underground and warded against unauthorized intrusion there were, in fact, no actual doors. Only someone with complete access—the king—could come and go. His warnings to Stuff and Thang not to go in had been needless, for they stood by a blank wall.

“Well?” The king snapped, his anxiety making him testy.

“The alarms were tripped when we came back from Summer, sire,” Stuff said, “But it was such a scramble coming back we thought it was a mistake. We finally got it sorted out and traced the alarm back here.”

“Someone has been down here for _hours_?” The king considered this. It was probably just a hobgoblin whose portal had misfired. It happened sometimes, especially if Roderick was the one in charge of opening the portal. He never left it open long enough and the hobgoblins really had to scramble to get through in time and, on occasion, they were dropped somewhere other than the intended exit. It would help, the king growled at the thought, if Roderick ever bothered to do a head count before and after going through the portals. “Have you found out who's missing?”

“Er,” Thang shrugged his spindly shoulders, “Not yet? But it isn't me lost this time!” His fishy face turned up in a grin, pleased to be able to give such a conclusive answer. Stuff rolled her eyes.

“I'll get the fool out.” The king walked forward without further preamble, heading straight for the expanse of blank wall before him. The light shrank down into a small globe of yellow at the head of his staff, and in the space of a single step the floor grew thick with dust and dirt. Roots hung down in pale strings, catching on his armor. The king slashed them away, calling out in irritated tones, “Alright, who's down here?”

What he expected was some poor hobgoblin to skitter out and offer a cringing apology for getting lost. What he did not expect were for multiple voices to scream in alarm. Flinching, the king snapped into a defensive stance, the leaves of his shoulders splaying out, wings snapping to attention and kicking up a cloud of dust. Sweeping the staff to and fro he searched for the source of the screaming and heard movement further into the room.

He shot around a corner. And stopped, baffled by the absurd sight of two fairies, dressed in dust-streaked party clothes, struggling to fit themselves inside a cupboard.

“ _What._ ” He said flatly.

The light fell across their faces and they turned toward it. The smaller of the two fairies squinted at the light for a moment, relief eclipsing the fear on her face. It made sense, he thought, that they would be glad of the light after hours in the dark, even if it were the Autumn King who brought it to them.

The girl's eyes widened and her face lit up quite independently of the amber's glow. She bit her bottom lip as if to hold back delight and stepped forward. The other fairy tried to pull her back, but she shook him off. Their struggles pushed open the door to the cupboard and the king could see an elf was already hiding inside, holding onto the fairy girl's arm for dear life, a fairy dagger held awkwardly in his other hand. The girl flipped her wings, knocking the elf back into the cupboard. The door swung shut with a bang, but for a brief instance the king saw a flash of amber glowing in the hilt of the dagger.

He sprang forward, shoving the fairies aside, and ripped the door off its hinges. The elf was gone. Whisked away by stolen amber. The Autumn king smashed the door against the floor, snarling in frustration.

The fairy boy started violently, backing up against a pile of boxes, staring at the king in absolute terror. “Who are you?!” The king whirled around, a massive gray shadow menacing the brightly colored little fairy, claws held under the boy's chin to force him to lift his head. “Where did you get that amber? Tell me!”

“We . . . we . . .” The boy pressed himself to the boxes, trying to make himself smaller, “I'm . . . Prince Lysander of Summer.”

“ _What_?” The king lowered his hand, curling his fingers as if to sheath his claws. He looked more closely at the boy's face, discerning a distinct resemblance to the Summer Heir, especially around the nose, and noting the silver circlet shining in contrast to the boy's dark hair. The Autumn King barely had time to think that the Summer Heir would really kill him this time before the scent of primroses wafted over him, turning his stomach.

Almost at the same moment the fairy girl hugged the king's arm and giggled, “Hi, I'm Dawn!” She was looking up at him with a look of total admiration, her pupils dilated even though the light was shining directly in her eyes.

Dread filled him as he looked at those fearless eyes. The smell of primroses was coming from the little fairy princess. Somehow she had been dosed with a love potion and apparently the first thing she had seen . . . was him. But it was impossible . . . that wasn't how . . .

His initial reaction was to shove her away with a wild sweep of his arm, but he remembered in time that it would be better not to damage the Summer princess. Gently, he unwound her arms and pushed her away, careful not to let his claws touch her. “Stop that!” He snapped, unable to soften his voice.

The princess just squealed and tried to hug him.

“And stop _that_.”

He nudged her toward her brother with his staff. She fluttered in the air, stirring up more dust, and began to climb along the length of the staff. The king dropped his staff with a clang in an effort to dislodge her, but she just came straight at him. He managed to stop her, holding her at arm's length, the tips of his fingers barely touching her shoulders. “Take her!” He pushed her towards her brother. “Keep her away from me!”

Lysander held onto his giggling sister. “Please, don't hurt us! We didn't mean to come here! I don't know what's wrong with Dawn, please!”

“No one is going to hurt you!”

The prince jerked back. The king swallowed the words he had been about to yell, looking at the two sets of eyes trained on them. The prince and princess had the exact same eyes and it was unnerving to have one pair gazing at him in complete adoration while the other stared at him in unblinking horror. They were not goblins, he reminded himself, there was no need to snarl at them. The mere sight of his face would be enough to scare any fairy. And if he presented the Summer Heir with a completely traumatized young brother . . . it didn't really bear thinking of.

The king picked up his staff, careful to avoid the fairy princess's reaching hands. “You are both coming with me and you will explain how you got here and how your sister came to be dosed with a . . .” His teeth ground together but he forced the words out, “A _love potion_.”

* * *

 

_Even Earlier that Night_

 

Sometimes Sunny wondered if he was a coward.

Most of the time he knew perfectly well that he was one.

It wasn't brave, keeping silent about his feelings for Dawn, letting her believe he thought of her as a friend and nothing else. If he were brave he would leave. It wasn't brave to stay and pretend nothing was wrong. And lately he wondered if she felt the same way he did, and that was even worse because there was no way they could be together. He didn't want to be a prince and she didn't want to be a farmer's wife. So he kept silent because he was afraid of losing what he had. As if by holding his breath he could slow the turning of the world and allow their friendship to remain intact and unchanged for just a little longer. And their friendship was so important to him, real and mutual and built up on a thousand good memories.

Hanging from a window trellis Sunny watched Dawn struggling against the grip of the goblin, her pink wings flapping in a desperate whirlwind until the goblin adjusted its grip and trapped her wings. There was a din of noise in the ballroom, a tide of panicked bodies, but his eyes focused entirely on Dawn and his thoughts raced in circles, that he could do nothing to help her, that he was small and useless, that he would never be brave enough to tell her or leave her, and now any choice was being taken from him.

Somehow, probably sheer force of the Summer Heir's will, Sunny's eyes were drawn past Dawn and to Marianne, who was surreptitiously weaving her way through the crowd, and signaling her handmaidens. She jerked a thumb toward the exits and pointed at the hostages: Get them out. She pointed to herself and then at the Autumn King, pulling her sword half out of its sheathe: I'll distract him.

Sunny, hanging from the trellis, spotted an ornamental flower in a pot filled with river-smoothed stones. With an aim practiced from years of trying to keep up with fairies while playing catch with seed pods and berries, Sunny sent a stone flying right into the back of the head of the goblin holding Dawn. Irritated, it freed a hand to rub the back of its head. When several more rocks stung the goblin's leathery hide it dropped the fairy princess completely and turned to look where the rocks were coming from. The handmaiden with lavender wings slammed her shoulder into the goblin, knocking it away from Dawn. “Get to the playroom!” The handmaiden ordered, “Lock yourselves in!”

The crowd of panicked party goers still retained enough sense not to draw attention to the escaping children. Instead someone began to shove at the goblins lined up to keep them in place. Soon everyone was pushing and shoving, distracting the goblins' attention.

Pushing his way through the forest of legs, Sunny emerged and ran over to Dawn, who was collapsed on the floor, crying. When he touched her shoulder to let her know he was there she grabbed him, burying her face in his shoulder and sobbing. He wanted to say it would be okay, but he could see Marianne fighting with the Autumn King, the handmaidens taking on opponents three times their size. And he was scared, more frightened than he had ever been. Even more than when he had entered the forests of Autumn. Because it wasn't him that was in danger, it was Dawn that was being targeted.

“We've got to go!” He said.

Dawn swallowed her tears, running the sleeve of her light blue party dress over her face, “Okay.” She said, getting to her feet. She looked at Marianne and wished her sister wasn't so brave, but she did not waste the opportunity created by the Summer Heir's diversion. Sunny and Dawn were among the oldest in the group and they herded the terrified and panicked royalty toward a side exit that the pink-winged handmaiden cleared for them.

“We have to help Marianne!” Iona insisted, dragging her feet and pulling against the hand Lysander had gripped around her upper arm. Beating her wings she said, “We can't just leave her alone!”

“Marianne's giving us a chance to get away!” Dawn took Iona's other arm, “And she'll kill us if we mess it up.” And the two older siblings forcibly propelled their little sister down the hallway and toward the playroom.

Sunny had run on ahead with the other children, showing them they way to the playroom, but when he noticed that the Summer children were absent he ran back to find them. On his way his ears twitched, catching a strange noise. He spun around to look, fearing goblins, but his eyes were caught by the gleam of moonlight from the windows, reflecting off the armor of a palace guard who was making muffled noises through a gag. When the other three caught up moments later they found Sunny using his pocket knife to saw away at the ropes that bound the three palace guards that had been hidden in the shadows of an alcove.

“Finally a good idea!” Iona pulled free and plunged her hand into the pocket of her party dress. After a bit of digging she produce several marbles, a reel of string, two wrapped candies, and a folding knife. She shoved everything but the knife back in her pockets.

“Oh, Iona!” Dawn put her hands to her face and shook her head.

“Marianne had her sword.” Was Iona's defensive reply, already busy removing the bindings from a guard's feet.

“I'm not complaining.” Lysander remarked, keeping watch on the hallway.

Once freed and brought up to speed on what was happening with the goblins, two of the armored fairies hurried off to locate the other guards. The third escorted the royal children and the elf toward the playroom. The royal living quarters were not anywhere near the ballroom and they did not dare leave the palace to take a shortcut through the open air. Only three quarters of the distance was crossed before the goblins began to catch up.

From around a corner the goblins came, a motley assortment of shapes and sizes, feet hitting the floor in a discordant pattern of heavy thudding feet and light skittering claws. In the front flew a large brown and white winged goblin holding a spear, lips parted in a delighted grin. Upon sighting their target the goblins let out a howl of triumph mixed with a scattering of, “Get them!” and “Got you now!”

Iona whirled around to face them, but the guard flung out an arm and barred her way. Not to be thwarted, she threw away her pocket knife and seized the guard's dagger, drawing it out of the sheath at his waist. Before she could do anything with her upgraded weaponry Lysander and Dawn grabbed her and flew through the nearest window, Sunny hopping over the ledge and following. The guard stayed behind and the children heard the clash of weapons before it was drowned out in the yelling of the goblins who were still chasing them. “C'mere! Come down here!” because none of them had wings to reach the fairies fluttering above them.

Sunny, unfortunately, was grounded. His small frame was deceptively heavy and Dawn hadn't been able to carry him long distances for years. Lysander and Dawn together would have managed to lift the elf easily enough, but they were struggling to keep Iona from turning back and charging the goblins head on. Sunny could see Dawn's yellow head turn to look down at him, moonlight above casting her face in shadows. Even so he knew she was worried. So was he. His heart was banging to escape from his chest and it wasn't just because he was running flat out. Terror constricted his throat, blurred his vision so that the palace gardens swam before him, and yet his hearing turned painfully sharp and he could hear the galloping pace of the goblins, tell that they were coming closer and closer.

Sunny swallowed hard, choking down enough of his fear to shout, “Get away! Go!”

“Not without you!” Dawn cried from above.

“Hah!” Sunny was jerked backwards and upwards, a hand bigger than his head wrapped around his arm. The elf was brought up face-to-face with the spear-wielding goblin. It grinned at the little elf with a mouthful of greenish teeth, two fangs protruding upwards from its lower jaw like tusks. “Got one!” The rest of the hoard streamed by, continuing in their pursuit, leaving Sunny and the tall goblin alone on the garden path. The goblin tilted its head, considering its snared prey. “Hm. An elf? Probably not worth anything.”

“Put him down!” Dawn had reappeared alone, dropping down to float just out of reach of the goblin's long arm, her long slender fingers folded into trembling fists. She had taken the guard's dagger from Iona, but it was in her sash, not her hand. It had seemed like a good idea to have it, but she couldn't actually bear the thought of cutting anyone with it, even a goblin. “Put him down right now!” Her clear, high voice had turned shrill but remained steady.

“Hm?” The goblin's brows were covered in ridges of bone and one of the ridges shifted upwards in speculation. “Worth something after all, hey, elf? As bait, at least.”

“Don't!” Sunny shouted, struggling against the goblin's unyielding grip. “Go! Fly away!” But it was too late. The goblin dropped Sunny and darted forward in a fierce beating of wings to snatch the princess, its huge hand enveloping her entire forearm in long clawed fingers. Dawn shrieked and snapped her wings to pull away, but the goblin was easily three or four times her size and would not be budged, dragging her back down onto the lawn, laughing at her struggles. Sunny got to his feet and ran forward, no clear intentions in his mind except to help Dawn, and got kicked away into the bushes for his troubles. “Sunny, no!” Dawn cried.

“Heh,” The goblin tilted its head to avoid her fluttering wings, “Lucky me, you're not the feisty one in the family. Not like your sister, hey? You're just another pretty, dancing fairy lady.”

Dawn's panicked eyes took in her shadowy captor, noticing that its right arm was missing, replaced with a metal contraption with a clamp to hold the spear. That meant that its only hand was occupied entirely with holding her captive. “Yes,” Dawn stopped struggling and looked up at the goblin, her voice shrill and breathless, “Yes, I'm the one who dances. And I hate fighting. My sister loves to fight and she _hates_ dancing, but do you know what?”

“What, princess?” The goblin asked, pale face arranged in self-satisfied smugness.

“Marianne still knows how to _waltz_.”

Dawn's delicate fist smashed into the side of the goblin's throat in one quick jab. It began to choke for breath and his grip on her went slack. She tore her arm free, the fabric of her sleeve catching and ripping on the goblin's claws, and spun around, wings slapping the goblins face before she shot into the air and away from him. “Oh, I hate it when Marianne's right,” Dawn held her hand to herself, feeling the throbbing in her knuckles, “She'll be insufferable about this!”

Marianne had set out to protect her family and part of that had been making sure they could protect themselves. To the horror of Lysander and Dawn, and the delight of Iona, Marianne had insisted they learn some basic forms of self defense. Dawn knew how to throw a punch without breaking her own hand, and a bit more, but not much more. And the training she had received had not been designed with the idea of seven-foot armored goblins in mind. She had considered going for the nose, but Marianne had warned her against breaking her hand on the bones of someone's face, so the throat had been the only option.

“Sunny!” She dropped into the bushes and fished out her best friend, leaves decorating his disarrayed spike of hair. She grabbed his hand and repeated what Marianne had drilled into her head during self defense training: hit your attacker hard enough to distract them and then, “ _Run_!”

* * *

 

Lysander kept watch at the playroom door, allowing the door to be ajar by only the slimmest crack. The metal shutters had been drawn over the windows and all the other doors were barred. This door remained open while the waited for Sunny and Dawn to arrive. The other children were huddle against a wall, cringing at the sound of distant fighting. Iona had gotten her practice sword out and was standing guard over the distressed royal heirs, since Lysander had refused to let her leave or even keep watch.

“We need to close the door!” Someone sniffled.

Lysander's hand was slippery against the metal of the door handle and he wanted more than anything to shut the door and pull the lever that sent the metal barricade into place. Standing still was worse than the running had been. His legs trembled from his recent exertions and from fear. He couldn't keep his breathing steady and his fingers twitched at every noise, hoping it was Dawn and Sunny, fearing it was goblins. The corridor outside the playroom remained dark and empty, lit only by moonlight and the sliver of yellow light escaping through the crack in the door.

Lysander was chewing on his lower lip. When Dawn burst around the corner he bit down in his surprise and tasted blood. He threw the door open wide, sending a broad shaft of light to cut through the gloom, casting Dawn and Sunny's shadows behind them, long and distorted. The scratch of claws on stone warned Lysander that the goblins were not far behind. He clung to the edge of the door frame, most of his body tucked behind the wall, one hand held out to Dawn as far as he could reach, as if he could somehow pull them in faster.

Hand-in-hand, fairy and elf were having a hard time not tripping each other up. Sunny kept trying to free his hand and push Dawn forward, try to tell her to fly ahead. Dawn's fingers tightened, soft hand refusing to relinquish his work-calloused one. The door was just at the end of the corridor, but Dawn's feet hurt and her wings ached and her goal seemed impossibly far away. Panic and fear wrapped around her chest in a tight band, keeping her from drawing a deep breath. If Sunny hadn't been there she might have dropped to the floor and cried. The sight of him dangling helplessly from the goblin's hand was still fresh in her eyes. She wasn't going to lose him. She would keep running until they were safe. She wasn't going to lose him.

Even when she still yards from the door Dawn put out her hand to take Lysander's. Two sets of blue eyes met, both glittering with fear. She saw the fear on Lysander's face intensify just a moment before she felt claws graze the edges of her wings. She gave a squeak and stumbled, wings snapping out and beating at whatever was behind her.

A flash of pinkish-purple zipped out of the playroom door and stopped short to hover in front of Dawn's attacker. The one-armed goblin halted too, trying to assess the situation. Iona did not hesitate, slicing her practice sword against the goblin's armor. The wood splintered. Iona threw away the useless hilt, drew a deep breath and _screamed_.

It was the long and piercing scream of a youngest child, practiced in demanding her way and getting it by sheer force of personality. The goblins shrank back. The one-armed goblin clamped his hand over one ear and hitched up his opposite shoulder to try and cover the other ear. Iona finished on a high note and turned, flying hard for the playroom. Being lighter and not exhausted from running all over the palace grounds, she overtook Dawn and Sunny in a moment, swooping past them and back into the room just as Dawn's fingers touched Lysander's offered hand.

The one-armed goblin beat his wings and adjusted the hold of the clamp that secured his spear in the grip of his prosthetic arm. The ring on his hand began to glow, lighting up his features and casting deeper shadows around his eyes. He looked at the fleeing fairies. If he hurried he might still be able to catch them. The ring seemed to glow with more insistence. The goblin huffed out an exasperated breath. Wasn't it just the way, his cousin calling them all back the moment things got interesting? “Let's go!” He waved his hand at the other goblins, “We're pulling out! Follow me!”

The goblin flew ahead through the archway, vanishing into the shadows beyond. The rest of the goblin hoard streamed after him, being likewise swallowed up by the darkness, their scratching and scraping footfalls abruptly disappearing, as if the softness of the shadows had silenced them. When a fairy guard rushed through a moment later with a lantern the light revealed only empty corridors.

* * *

Lysander's hand, chilled by fear, closed around Dawn's and he pulled her into the room, Sunny tumbling in after her. His other hand pulled down on the lever to let the metal doors shoot into place. By the time he had the lever down his hand must have gone numb from relief, for he could no longer feel the metal. He must have gone deaf and blind, too, because he didn't hear the door shut and the well-lit room was now in total darkness. And yet the strange numbness did not seem to be effecting his other hand, because he could feel Dawn's hand trembling. Nor was the deafness absolute, for he could hear Dawn and Sunny wheezing to catch their breath.

“Sand? Sunny?”

“Right here.” Lysander discovered he could still talk. He gave his sister's hand a squeeze.

“Did we die?” Sunny's tired voice asked cautiously, “Because I would like to think we didn't. I hurt too much to be dead. Being dead would be much more restful, I imagine.”

“You did get drop-kicked into a hedge,” Dawn giggled, a little shrill in her relief.

“Oh, wow, you totally punched a goblin.” Sunny said, events catching up to him at last.

“She _what_?” Lysander exclaimed. “Good job!”

“I did, I really did! I can't believe that I actually did that! It's not like he was even hurt, but it kind of surprised him. I was going to poke him in the eye, like Marianne taught us, but I panicked. Now my hand really hurts. The one you've got, Sunny.”

Flopped over on his back, Sunny ran his thumb lightly over Dawn's bruised knuckles, feeling the pained heat of her skin. “Thank you.” He said, “Thank you for saving me.”

“I think this means you have to be my slave for life.” Dawn remarked.

“Okay.” Sunny said promptly.

Lysander was recovered enough to wonder about where the lights had gone. “Iona, what happened to the lanterns? Iona? Iona!” He let go of Dawn's hand and stood up, the motion making him realize that the floor underneath his feet was not carpeted stone, but wood. Pressing his hand against it to push himself up he felt dust, thick and fuzzy, coat his fingers. “Iona!” Lysander flung out his hands, searching for the wall. He found a door, but it was an unfamiliar one, smaller, with a wooden handle. A bit of scrabbling in the dark told him it was a cupboard and that the wall behind it was rough wood.

Dawn and Sunny got up and joined his exploration. The room they were in was small and crowded with bits of furniture and stacks of boxes, and there were no doors. Of Iona and the other royal children there was no sign. All three of them were starting to panic and it only got worse when they couldn't find anything to make a light with. Dawn went back to the cupboard and found it locked. She still had Iona's dagger so she stuck it into the crack between the door and frame, trying to pop the thing open, getting more frantic when it resisted. It burst open and released a small avalanche of the sort of random junk you find stuffed in cupboards and closets. Something wet splashed across her face and she shrieked.

The boys were with her in a second, scrambling through dust and junk, swinging their arms to find their way in the dark. “I'm okay.” Dawn rubbed at her eyes and was aware of a strong flowery scent. “I think it's just some old perfume.”

“Here, I've got it.” Lysander found a bottle laying on the top shelf of the cupboard. He felt a string attached to it and had to untie it. Stopping it up with his handkerchief, he set it back on the shelf. “I think it was there on purpose. Like a bucket of water propped over a door.”

“Where _are_ we?” Dawn sank down to the floor. Sunny and Lysander settled down on either side. “Where did the playroom go? I thought that maybe the goblins got us after all, but . . . this is the stupidest sort of prison cell, isn't it? Full of junk and stupid pranks. And it's so _dark_. I think maybe I could standit if only there was a light. I would _kiss_ anyone who showed up with a light.”

Sunny absently checked his pockets, but once again remembered he cleaned out his pockets before the party, meaning that his matches and flint were sitting on a table in his room. He felt ashamed of himself. Dawn was just saying that. He wouldn't barter over kisses. If he had any way of lighting a candle or lantern he would have done it already, free of charge. He hated the impish thought that danced in his head, that Dawn might be so happy to be able to see again that she would kiss him in gratitude. But he thought about it all the same. He imagined hopping up onto a rock to get the height necessary to kiss Dawn, or that Dawn might bend down and kiss him.

Glad of the darkness for the moment, Sunny hid his face—burning with embarrassment—in his free hand. The other was occupied with lacing its fingers with Dawn's. Something pricked against his leg and he uncovered his face so he could feel around in the dark. “Oh, it's your dagger.” He said to Dawn.

“Keep it. I don't want it. I just want to go home.”

Time passed. Fast or slow it was hard to say in the unyielding darkness. Lysander went through the cupboards but found nothing to make a light or give them a clue how to get out. Sunny checked the floor for possible trapdoors while the fairies inspected the ceiling. By the time they had gone over every inch of the place they were feeling more weary than ever and utterly hopeless. Sitting on the floor by the cupboard, sniffling from the dust, Dawn and Lysander spread their wings out to make a warm little tent in the chilly room.

“But, really,” Sunny said, “Thank you for saving me, Dawn.”

“You were trying to save me.”

“It just . . . means a lot to me.”

“Oh, Sunny . . .”

“Are you two going to say mushy, best friendly stuff now?” Lysander asked, staring at the black and imaging patterns in the air.

“Sorry!” The two squeaked.

“No, no, I don't mind.” Red streaks followed the movement of his eyes and he tried to make them into spirals. “Just wanted to know if I should cover my ears and give you some privacy.”

Dawn's fingers found her brother's ear and gave it a tweak. “Thanks for keeping the door open, Sand. When we get out of here I'll get Dad to give us all medals. Two for Marianne.”

They went quiet, wondering what had happened to the Summer Heir and her handmaidens. Their thoughts wandered back to their own predicament: What had happened to _them_? Their thoughts revolved around all the things they didn't know, had no way of knowing, and on and on until their exhausted brains finally let them drift off into uneasy sleep.

Until a voice bellowed in the darkness and they frantically tried to hide, but a yellow light appeared and Dawn's light-starved eyes were drawn to it, and an unspeakable joy filled her at being able to _see_. Then her eyes fell on the long, sharp face of the light bearer and suddenly the world was a lot more pink than golden . . .

* * *

 

Once again the Autumn King sat down behind the desk in his disarrayed study and tried to get some work done. It was important that these calculations be finished before morning. Unfortunately it had been a tiring evening—now early morning.

The younger princess had been loudly distressed whenever separated from her, as she put it, “King-wingy”, and it took a painfully long time to extract himself from her clutches without making her cry. It rankled that he cared so much about whether or not the fairy cried. Finally he had pushed her off on Griselda and the two had gone off to plan a surprise for him. The plates of his shoulders moved restlessly at the thought.

Even the Autumn King could stay awake only so long and his eyes grew too heavy to keep open. Some hazy time later he drifted back to consciousness, pulled there by the sound of someone else moving in the room. He was slumped in his chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest, head tilted forward. The usual alarms that went off in his head when someone invaded his space were not going off, so he assumed his mother was rifling through his papers again. Annoying as she might be she had never posed any sort of actual danger to anything except his blood pressure.

Sleepy voice thick with his brogue, the Autumn King muttered, “Mother, I've told you to stay out of my papers.”

The voice that replied was far too pleasant to be his mother's. “Has anyone ever told you that you grind your teeth in your sleep?”

In the space of a second the king snapped from dozing to awake. His staff was in his hand and he was on his feet so quickly that the chair fell over. The Summer Heir was crouched on a chair, bare toes curled around the edge of the seat, wings draped behind her. She had several stacks of documents before her and she appeared to be penciling notes on a bit of paper. In her right hand she held a steaming mug of tea.

“It's really quite loud—the grinding.” She went on, unperturbed by the king's agitation. “Do goblin teeth keep growing or are you going to end up with false teeth before you hit thirty?”

“Wha—what are you _doing_?” He came around the desk and assessed the room. Her borrowed sword was hung over the nail in the back of the door and her boots were on the floor. This was not an attack, it seemed.

“Well,” She sipped the tea, “I'm going through the notes on the investigation of the border incident.”

“Why do I still have my insides in their proper places? And where did you get tea?” The king rubbed his throat, almost expecting to suddenly discover it had been cut while he slept. White scars already marked up his arms where he had deflected the edge of the Summer Heir's blade.

Her anger had only increased when she realized that not only was her sister there—and drugged with a love potion—but her brother had been abducted, too. She had charged straight for the king, slashing at him with the sword he had handed her moments before. When he did not raise his staff to fight her, only blocking her blows with his arms, she had only grown more upset. The Summer Heir's accusations of betrayal still rang in the king's ears, even as she sat there peacefully drinking tea. He had been forced to have her put back in a cell. Now she was out again, with who-knew-how-many unconscious guards left laying in her wake.

“Your mother brought the tea.” The Summer Heir said. He searched her face for any sign of the burning anger she had displayed earlier. He found none.

“And just left you here? She didn't _do_ anything?”

“She brought a second cup.” Marianne poured tea into the cup and offered it. After a moment's hesitation he unfurled one hand from the staff and accepted the cup. His long fingers brushed against hers, claws gently grazing her skin. She didn't seem to notice. The cups were large, being the king's particular dishware, but the fairy held her over-sized mug in one hand, her fingers not reaching even halfway around it.

“You seem to have reached some sort of conclusion?” He prompted, the staff cradled in the crook of one arm, both hands anxiously turning the mug round and round.

“I have. I came to apologize again, but you were asleep.”

“For the love of—don't keep apologizing to _me_.”

“I'll apologize as I see fit, Autumn King.” The Summer Heir's lips quirked up in a small smile and she quickly took a sip of tea to cover it. “But I do keep battering you.”

“Tch.” The king's wings twitched. “It'll take more than that to crack my hide.”

“I'm sure I could have done better if I had been focused on my work.”

“Don't overestimate yourself, Summer Heir.”

“Oh, I won't, Autumn King. As I was saying, once I calmed down I saw that the whole thing made no sense. Kidnapping Lysander and Dawn? Love potions? Though for a moment I did wonder, because _someone_ has been cutting down primroses along the border--”

“To be burned.” The king's teeth scraped against each other and his expression darkened.

“--but you were obviously not overjoyed at being the target of my sister's unbridled affection.” The king covered his face with one hand and groaned.

The Summer Heir set down her tea and stood up. She reached up and pulled the king's hand away from his face. She felt him go stiff under her touch and he leaned away ever so slightly, but did not take his hand away. Trying to reassure him that she wasn't about to attack, Marianne put her other hand on top, holding the Autumn King's fingers between her own. “It obviously wasn't part of a plan, or even an improvisation on a plan. And if I know you at all—and I think I do, a bit—you wouldn't do anything without a plan.”

A spark of humor sprang into the king's blue eyes and his fingers curled warmly around hers. “True. Not everyone has your talent for, ah, winging it.”

Marianne took her hands away and brushed her hair back, directing her gaze down at the floor to hide the pleased smile the compliment had summoned. “However, one thing,” Her voice went serious, “If you ever do anything to harm or scare my family I _will_ cut your throat while you sleep. Understand?”

The king looked down at the fairy with fire burning in her brown eyes. He touched his throat, checking again that it was still intact. “Perfectly.”

The Summer Heir went back to her chair and sat cross-legged. “So tell me what happened.”

The king told her what he knew. What he had pieced together about the dagger and the amber gem set in its hilt. Iona had taken it from a palace guard, but which one they had no way of knowing. “It wasn't enchanted by anyone in Autumn, otherwise I would have traced that elf by now. As best as it can be figured the amber in the dagger reacted to the passkeys my captains were carrying. You sister, carrying the counterfeit passkey, went through a door--”

“Explain that. What do doors have to do with it?”

“Most passkeys require a door to work.”

“But you didn't have a door in the garden when you brought the Winter Heir back.”

“No. I said _most_ require a door. The larger, more complexly enchanted pieces can use mirrors, still waters, or nothing at all.”

“Hm. I suppose I should be glad I didn't know that. Might've developed an aversion to doors. Mirrors. Still waters.” She said it lightly but the king could hear an edge in the words. “If they hadn't gone through a door they might have just stayed where the were? That's . . . that's really frustrating. And that's why Sunny disappeared when the cupboard door shut on him? You really have no idea where he went?”

If there was a bright side to Dawn being under the influence of a love potion, Marianne thought dryly, it at least meant she wasn't distressed over her best friend being missing. Small blessings.

“In other circumstances I might be able to narrow it down, but if they ended up in the laboratory, of all places, the elf could have gone almost anywhere. The scouts are under orders to keep an eye out for him and bring him back.” The Summer Heir shot him a glance and he added, offended, “Unharmed, of course!”

“Of course. So poor Sunny could have ended up in any old doorway. Well, we can be fairly sure that Roland is behind all this. A shipment of amber is stolen and Summer Guards suddenly have enchanted gems on their daggers? Who else by their captain would organize that? At least we know the “who” if not the “why. And explain to me again how Dawn ended up . . . _enamored_ of you?”

Claws drummed out an agitated tempo on the surface of the desk. “From what your brother tells me the cupboard was set up to dust whoever opened it without a proper key. Which is not surprising, as the owner of that laboratory had a . . . well, a unique sense of humor. But that potion . . . it worries me. It shouldn't have worked.”

“Why? Dust someone with it and the first person they see they fall in love with, that's how it works, everybody knows that. You just happened to be that person.”

“It's not . . . It shouldn't have . . .” He stopped and took a breath, rubbing his tired eyes. He released the breath, “I need to have this work finished before I can do anything else. Before I can help your sister or find your elf friend.”

The Summer Heir nodded. Fair enough. “What is it exactly that I keep interrupting? Why are up-to-date weather reports so important?”

Of course she had noticed the map on the wall. The king hesitated, running his hand across the back of his neck, pale face stretching as he considered how much to tell the Summer Heir. After brief contemplation he decided to just tell her everything. He ran a claw over the map on the wall, “By morning the Summer Guard will be at the border and they will set fire to the thorns and enter the forest. To prevent that there are portals hidden in the trees, just wooden frames made from branches. Those portals can be connected to others that are located somewhere where it is raining.” He traced his claw over to the areas where rain had been most recently reported.

“You're going to make it rain so it's too wet to set on fire? You're going to _move_ the rain around? That's . . .”

The king had endured endless scorn for the sake of his plans. The council called it resorting to trickery, that properly he should go out and meet the fairies in force. Such a trick inspired no fear in the enemy. It was hiding and hiding was to be afraid.

“That's brilliant!” The Summer Heir said.

“What?”

“You can slow them down indefinitely and without actually risking a fight. Have you thought about using waterfalls, though?” When she talked she threw out her hands in expansive gestures, reckless of nearby walls or even the Autumn King.

“Yes, but it's harder to control the water flow and it looks suspicious. The idea is to--”

“Make sure they don't think to even look for a trick. Rain is rain, nothing suspicious about that. Excellent delaying tactic. That will buy us time to sort this all out. While you were napping I was working on a letter to my father, trying to explain the situation a bit. Would you have it sent to the nearest Summer Guard outpost? I would ask you to take it directly to my father, but I think they would feel better if the message came through more normal channels.”

“Ah, yes, I can . . . do that.” He had gotten distracted, watching her hands keeping time with her words, once or twice coming close to smacking against him and he had nervously drawn back. She was so small, standing next to him, but she still managed to take up so much space.

“You can read it over, if you like, make sure I'm not giving away any state secrets.”

“Um. Yes. Okay.”

“When you're done setting up the rainfall, we'll discuss Dawn? There is an antidote, right?”

“There . . . should be.”

* * *

 

Lysander sat on the bed, hugging his legs. He was alone in the bright little room. Sunny had disappeared. He didn't know where Dawn was. All he knew was that he was in Autumn, that the goblins had got him after all.

After the Autumn King had questioned them about the dagger he had brought them to Marianne. Sand had never seen her so angry. Sometimes he could feel how angry she was, but she never let to show completely, locking it down inside herself so it only glimmered in her eyes. Even the Autumn King had seemed unnerved by her aggression, barely raising his arms to ward off the blows of her sword.

Sand stared at the ceiling, wings wrapped around himself, trying to see pictures in the cracks. All he could summon were scowling faces with crooked fangs, so he put his face down on his knees. Maybe Marianne had beaten the Autumn King. Maybe she was coming to rescue them right now.

The door opened and Marianne walked in.

“Mari!” He unfolded himself from the bed and stood up to meet her. She grabbed him in a tight hug and dropped quick kiss on his cheek. He was taller than her since a recent growth spurt, but she was still his big sister and she made him feel safe. Her wings tented around him and for a little while he was bathed in the comforting glow of light through the translucent fabric.

Marianne pushed him back, her hands on his shoulders.“Hey, Sand. Sorry about losing my temper back there. The Autumn King and I had a misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding? You were trying to kill him! And Dawn's in love with him! Sunny fell into a cupboard and disappeared and before that we were in the playroom, but when the door closed—what happened to your face?”

“Negotiations started off kind of rocky.” She shrugged.

They exchanged stories but Marianne left out the parts about the amber. “It's better if you don't know. Just forget you ever saw that dagger until I tell you otherwise, okay? And Dawn has to stay here until we figure out the antidote. I'm staying to represent Summer and get to the bottom of this mess.”

“I can't . . . I can't go home and leave you and Dawn here.”

Going home was the only thing he wanted to do, actually. Home, far far away from dark dungeons and snarling goblin kings that tore doors off their hinges like it was nothing. But once before he had been afraid of the Autumn King and Marianne had told him all about how the fearsome looking goblin was scared of dancing with a girl. Now Lysander thought of the Autumn King this evening, all spikes and scales and claws, and yet pushed into a corner by Marianne's outrage.

“I think . . . I should stay. Look after Dawn while you, um, negotiate.”

“It's fine if you want to go home, Sand.” Marianne put her hands on either side of his face and knocked her forehead gently against his, looking into his eyes. “It's okay if you're scared. This is a scary place.”

“You're pretty scary, too.”

“Why, thank you!” Marianne pushed his face away playfully, “I do make an effort.”

“Somebody needs to look after Dawn and . . . I don't want to go home and not know what's happening.”

“We do need someone to distract Dawn.” Marianne admitted. “She starts singing sad love songs if we leave her alone too long. It's driving the goblins to distraction. I'm not crazy about it either. I guess you're staying, if that's what you really want to do. With any luck we just might get this all resolved within the next day, fingers crossed.”

* * *

The slat of a shelf had been pressing in Sunny's back, but when Dawn pulled away and the door slammed shut in Sunny's face, the shelf gave way and the elf tumbled backwards into the dark. And kept tumbling . . . the yellow gem set into the hilt of the dagger twinkling like a star, lighting up glimpses of thorn covered branches that reached out to snag Sunny but never quite managed to.

His fall was halted when he crashed headfirst into another elf.

“Ooow,” The elf said in a deep voice, “What's your rush?”

“Pare?” Sunny got off the larger elf, accidentally putting his knee in Pare's stomach as he did. “Sorry, sorry! Where . . .”

He had moved again. This wasn't the storage room, and there was definitely no sign of the Autumn King. It was an elf house, obvious at first glance since the furniture was actually the right size and the ceiling wasn't miles above his head. How had he fallen into a cupboard and landed in Pare's house? Pare was the mayor of a fringe village, smack up against the Autumn border. Strangely, some of the cupboard's contents seemed to have followed him, including the dagger and the bottle of perfume stopped up with Lysander's handkerchief.

“Like I said,” Pare stood up and helped Sunny to his feet, “What's your rush, barreling through the door like that? Just opening it to let in some air and boom! I'm on the floor. Hey, it's Sunny, right? Been a few years.”

“Through the door?” Sunny looked behind him and saw the door hanging open, looking out onto a dark street.

“Daddy?” A child, just a couple years old, ran up and tugged on Pare's sleeve.

Sunny stared, his mouth hanging open. The little girl was definitely an elf—in part. But she had scales covering her cheeks and when she flashed Sunny a friendly smile he saw a row of sharp, pointed teeth. Then her mother came out of the kitchen, simultaneously answering several of the questions running through Sunny's head and raising twice as many more. She was a goblin with lizard-like features and a blue marking over one eye. She wore a dress of elfin style, covered by an apron on which she was drying her clawed hands.

Pare picked up the little girl and shut the door before coming over to put a hand on Sunny's shoulder. “Have you met my wife, Lizzy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, so much stuff happening here. But this time the misunderstanding between Bog and Marianne didn't last long at all! Phew! Sunny's subplot kicks off! And poor baby Sand, I'll stop traumatizing you soon and you'll get involved more actively in the plot.
> 
> I have been waiting forever to introduce married Pare and Lizzy. They were initially introduced in passing in chapter six. Finally I found a way to work in a gender-flipped beauty and the beast couple. YES. Elf/goblin relations are doing pretty well, I'd say.
> 
> And in case you had forgotten this chapter will remind you that Roderick really isn't very nice, despite his baby-sitting ways. Or perhaps his niceness levels are directly affected by whether or not he is holding a baby.
> 
> Next chapter we'll finally get around to Sugar Plum and love potions! I'll give you a heads up right now that love potions in this story aren't quite so straight-forward as they are in the movie. But, sssh, spoilers, sweetie.


	17. Chapter 16: Sorcerery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussion of love potions and their consequences.

 A hobgoblin scout appeared in the branches of a tree at the border between Summer and Autumn. The full moon was hidden behind clouds and it was still some hours until sunrise. In the heavy darkness the lanterns and torches of the Summer Guard flared out like beacons, illuminating their armor to dazzling radiance.

The scout's destination was the Summer Outpost, about a mile off. She had planned to go the rest of the way on foot to avoid suspicion, but she wasn't going to risk running into the Summer Guard in the dark. The buckle of her bag was covered with a metal seal, the seal of Autumn, and grains of amber were set into the veins of the engraved leaf. Scouts and messengers were granted extensive access to the network for the duration of a mission, so it would be easy enough for her to open a door right into the outpost.

Usually she would go through an elf village and use their doors, but it was too early and all the doors would be locked right now. That was the agreement, that the doors were open during the day and shut at night except by prearrangement. She twitched her round flat nose. She'd just have to use an interior door at the outpost and sneak back outside so she could knock on the front door and deliver her message. The king had been strict in his orders about keeping the use of the amber concealed. Yes, there had been some leakage of information, but it was better not to let anymore slip out.

That was the handy thing about being granted high-priority access to the network, the scout thought happily, you didn't even need a proper door. The opening into a hollow tree, or branches arching just right, would do just as well. Hopping from twig to twig, avoiding the thorns, she sprang through a hole, expecting the handle of a door to come into her paw. The thorns flashed past, as they always did, she saw the door and . . . something yanked her sideways.

Thorns scraped across her scaly hide. She hugged her bag to herself to protect the message, squeezing her eyes shut against the thorns that cut into her tender nose. Even when she was seized by the tail and flung against a wall she kept her hold on the bag.

“What have we here?” A voice drawled, tugging on the bag.

The messenger held it tighter. “M-message for the Summer King,” She said, breathless but not injured. It took more than being bounced off a wall to hurt a hobgoblin. “From Marianne, the Heir of Summer, First Princess.”

“I'll take it.”

“I'm to deliver it into the hand of the Summer King and no one else.” The goblin said firmly. She was still outdoors. A glance over her shoulder told her that Autumn's border was just behind her. Before her were several fairy guards. The one she was speaking to had a squirrel crest on his armor. He pulled a dagger from its sheath at his waist and pointed it at the goblin.

“Give it to me.” The scout's eyes were not drawn to the length of pointed steel, but to the glimpse of amber she saw in its hilt.

* * *

 

Dawn jumped up and squealed with delight when she saw the Autumn King at the door. He barely had time to brace himself before he had a fairy lovingly wrapped around his narrow waist. His entire being seemed to radiate an attitude of “please don't!”, but he sighed and said, “Hello, princess.”

“Hi!” She chirped, “I missed you sooo much!”

“Hi, Dawn,” Marianne said, following the king into the room. Dawn detached herself and hugged her sister. “Marianne! Mariaaanne! Have you met my king?” She squished her older sister's cheeks, “Isn't he _amazing_?”

“Uh, um . . . yeah.” Marianne endured the enthusiastic affection and tried to think of a way to calm her sister down or at least call her off. Lysander offered a solution, speaking up from across the room, standing as far away from the king as possible.

“Why don't you show him what you made?” He suggested.

Dawn released her sister and fluttered over to the table, picking up some sort of leafy object. The king had no time to react before the object was slapped against his chest where it stuck. Instinctively he reared back, looking down his nose at the assemblage of dead leaves. “What is _that_?”

“I made it special for you!” Dawn said earnestly.

“For . . . me?” The king's look of revulsion mingled with one of bewilderment.

“It looks good on you.”

“I . . . I don't . . . don't . . .”

“I hope you like it!”

The king looked about ready to reach his limits, “This isn't . . .!” He began in a growl, but he stopped short at the sight of the little princess's beaming face, eyes full of hope. Not to mention Marianne, whose gaze he could feel burning into his back. “Well, um . . . thank you.” He twisted his arm and head to one side, “It's, ah,” He waved his hands uncertainly, trying to think what you might say when given a gift. It wasn't something he was particularly experienced at. One occurred to him, though it stuck in his throat. His face drew into a grimace and his hands contorted when he said, “ _Lovely_.”

The little fairy princess clapped her hands and tried to wrap her arms around him again. He managed to forestall her by taking her hands as she talked a mile a minute after how much she loved him and she was so happy he liked her gift. Even though he knew it was futile he couldn't help but say, “No, no, what you're feeling isn't real, it's the potion . . . you know . . .” She wasn't listening. “No, I suppose you don't know.” He said wearily, patting her hand gently. This absentminded gesture did not go unnoticed by Marianne and Sand. The two of them exchanged glances.

Since Dawn showed no sign of letting up the king cast his mind around for some way to deflect her. “You must be tired from your long day, princess, why don't you take a wee nap?”

“Yes, it's late.” Sand came up and put his hands on his sister's shoulder, “And I'm sure the king has a lot of work to do.”

The king's relief at this was clearly visible. Dawn was detached and shepherded towards the bedroom. Just before she could exit, however, she turned back around, “Wait!” The king stiffened and turned back around reluctantly, “Yes?”

“Tell me your name?”

Nobody had asked for his name since he was a child. The question completely threw him off. He was aware that the Summer Heir and prince were also looking at him curiously, waiting to hear the answer. His reply, though technically in response to to Dawn, was directed at Marianne, looking hesitantly into her brown eyes.

“I'm . . . Bog.”

“My Boggy Woggy Kingy Wingy!” Dawn sang.

“Bog. King.” He snapped, forgetting to keep his voice low.

“Goodnight, my Boggy Woggy Kingy Wingy!”

The king drew in a breath to correct her, but Lysander was finally managing to get her out of the room, so the king's expression relaxed and he just said, “Good night.” Shoulders hanging forward he trailed out of the room behind the Summer Heir, turning around to gently close the door behind them.

“Are you happy now?” He asked her, “I saw her like you asked.” She had asked, too, not even demanded. The response that first came to his lips had been a flat refusal, but when he had seen the look in the princess's eyes he quickly switched to saying yes. It wasn't that she had been mad—though no doubt that would have come in due time—it was that she was asking him, hoping he would do this.

“Yes, I am.” Marianne said, “She was going to make herself sick, getting as worked up as she was. I appreciate you taking the time to calm her down. I really do. Thank you.”

“Ah . . . you're welcome.”

“Is your name really “Bog”?”

He looked offended. “Of course it is!”

“Take it easy. I mean, is it short for something?”

“. . . Boggart.”

They walked in silence for a time.

“Really, what is this?” The king indicated Dawn's gift.

“You've never seen a boutonnière before, seriously?”

“No.” He said shortly.

“It's just a decoration. Usually they're made out of more flowers and less dead leaves, though. It's something you make and give to someone you like.”

“What's the point of it?” He flicked at the ragged edge of the yellowing leaves. The thing was well constructed, despite the poor materials. A small white flower sat at the center of the ragged leaves.

“Don't sweethearts give each other presents in Autumn?”

“Yes, I suppose, but it's usually more along the lines of weapons or fresh kills. Useful things. Not weeds.”

“To be honest I actually agree with you there.”

“You do?”

“I'd appreciate a sword much more than flowers any day.”

“Haven't you collected enough swords by now?” The king groaned.

“Hm, I seem to keep losing them, strangely enough.”

“Oh, and here I just assumed it was the other way around. You walk more than a few feet without a sword in hand and one would simply materialize for your use.”

“Hah! I wish.”

Another long silence.

“Have you really been using a sword since you were six?” The king asked.

“Yes. Why?”

“It never came up in your letters. It just seemed . . . odd that you wouldn't mention since it seems to . . . be important to you.”

“Sword fighting isn't exactly considered the proper activity for a princess. Any fighting, actually. Oh, it was all very well for me to learn, but it was expected that I would never use it in actual practice. I'm the Summer Heir. I should know how to defend myself but I should stay out of trouble.” Not to mention how much Roland disliked her swordsmanship. He had discouraged her from the sport at every opportunity. She had ignored him but it had made her self-conscious and reluctant to talk about her passion for fighting.

The king digested this information. “How strange.” He remarked. “Discouraging fighting? But what if you're attacked?”

“In theory the palace guards should handle it.”

“And if they can't? Or if they're disloyal?”

“Then we'd be in trouble, I guess. There's a reason why my handmaidens are trained in the sword. Backup.”

“You thought you would need it?”

“Yes.” The Summer Heir flew on ahead a bit, tossing over her shoulder, “And I was right, if you might recall.”

The king winced the tiniest bit, flickering his own wings to catch up to the Summer Heir. Apologies only healed so much hurt, so he refrained from offering empty words.

“Tell me about the civil war.” Marianne said abruptly, addressing the wall more than the king.

“After the border incident--”

“No, that was the trigger, but what was building up before then? Why were they so eager to start a fight?”

“Many different . . . things.”

“You had been ruling two years at that point. What did you do that was so world-shaking? Surely one visit to Summer wasn't enough to set them all off.”

“No.” The king pulled ahead, rotating to face the Summer Heir and gesture with his staff, “The library is this way, if you're ready to work on finding the antidote. The sooner the better, if you ask me.”

“You're changing the subject.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't wish to talk about it!” The king flashed ahead in a whir of wings.

“Hang on!” Marianne swooped around and got in front, making him pull back before he crashed into her. “If we're going to work things out then you need to tell me the political situation.”

“No, I don't! We are going to track the stolen amber and prove that your pretty captain made off with it in the first place. Summer hands him over for justice and that is the _end_ of it.”

“Simple as that? Quick and clean, right?”

“It would be preferable.” He quickly arched overhead, briefly facing the ceiling in a horizontal pose to get past the Summer Heir, twisting back upright without breaking the rhythm of his wing beats. Marianne darted past him, lighter and quicker, once more getting to the front and deliberately following the king's movements to prevent him from getting past.

“And here I was thinking we were getting somewhere. What's so vitally secret about your civil war?”

“It's just . . . irrelevant.” The king spread one hand as he shrugged. He pulled close, sharp-edged features aimed at her with a menacing sneer, “So leave it _alone_.”

The Summer Heir thrust her face forward. The king had to move back or risk her nose bumping his. “No.” She said. She pointed a thumb at her chest, “Official representative, remember? You freely agreed to that, no debate. That means you have to play by the rules and fulfill your obligations. You don't have to divulge state secrets but I'm entitled to know the lay of the land so that I can do my job.”

“These circumstances are hardly official--”

“You _agreed_. Are you going against your word?”

“No! I am simply clarifying--”

“Altering the deal is the same as breaking it if we're not in agreement about the change!”

“You were simply unaware--”

“I am aware that you are a oath-breaking--”

“How dare _you_ call _me_ an oath breaker! The treaty was broken by Summer!”

“A fact which I have acknowledged! I am here to make amends!”

“Oh, as if you had any choice in the matter of coming!” He scoffed.

Marianne's hand was on the hilt of her sword. They circled each other in the air, instinctively looking for openings and weaknesses. They were on the verge of exchanging blows again when somebody said, “Children, children, shame on you quarreling again!” Heir and Monarch turned to snarl at the intruder.

It was Roderick.

“Oops, sorry, don't mind me, I'm just here as a spectator.” He leaned on the wall and waved his hand at them to go on. “I missed the last two rounds so I'm keen to see the outcome of this one.”

“Go _away_.” The king swooped down at Roderick, “We are _busy_.”

“Evidently. Have you thought that we might need to improve the locks on the cells? How many times is it that she's busted out now? Six? Seven?”

“Three.” Marianne landed and folded her wings. “Tell me about what started the war.”

“Oh, sure!” Roderick said easily, “It all started when--”

Bog's hand was wrapped around Roderick's throat. “Keep your mouth _shut_.” He ordered.

“Worth a shot.” Marianne's wings flicked as she shrugged. “Now I'll just have to keep shouting at you until I manage to bore through that incredibly dense, leafy head of yours.” She jabbed a finger at his head. Roderick chuckled until his cousin tightened his hold and interrupted his air supply.

“From the famous Summer Heir I expected more refined tactics.” The king sneered.

“I match my tools to my project. Scalpel for delicate matters. Clubs for stubborn fools. I don't think Autumn would even notice if I tried to be tactful. Your idea of tactful is sneaking into places in the dead of night. As opposed to your direct approach of crashing chandeliers and smashing thrones that predated the Spring Invasion!”

“You would compare the offenses against my people to a few broken trinkets?”

“That's not what I mean! And—oh. Your cousin needs air.”

Roderick was released and after regaining his breath said, “Glad to see you two getting along so well. Need any help putting her in another cell? We'll run out of intact ones soon. And windows! I've never seen so many broken windows. Lately, anyway. Not since that one party . . .”

“Why was it you were here?” The king interrupted.

“Just a report from the border. Scouts from Summer have been checking out the area, looking for thin areas. We've been shuffling things around to get them confused and . . . you're not getting mad at me for talking about this in front of Princess Right Hook, what gives?”

“We're in the middle of negotiations.” Marianne said.

“You know,” Roderick affected a thoughtful pose, finger tapping his chin, “I just _love_ how you two are double-teaming with the angry frowny faces. If looks could kill I'd be impaled coming and going.”

The two of them just rolled their eyes. “Library this way?” Marianne asked.

“Yes.” The king gestured in the correct direction.

Right before they could turn a corner Roderick called after them. “Nice boutonnière, cousin!”

An instant later the object in question smacked Roderick right in the eye.

* * *

 

“Honestly,” Marianne stood in the doorway, the king behind her, “When you said “library” I wasn't expecting an actual . . . library.” A small room, maybe, with a few old shelves crammed with uncared for volumes with mildew on the pages. True, this place was not the large, airy Summer library with its white shelves and carpeted floors, but it was no hole in the wall. The air in the library was fresh, cool, and dry. The only trace of the usual smell of dampness, of leaves, that Marianne had come to expect, came from the Autumn King.

Where the Summer library was bright and roomy, this library was dark and crowded. The shelves were of dark polished wood, nearly black, and there were an endless array of them, lining the walls from top to bottom in endless levels of books. There were ladders and stairs, railed walkways. The spiky lanterns were here, too, arranged at precise intervals to give even coverage of light.

The books in the study had been from before the burning of the libraries. She had thought them exceptions, rescued scraps, but this . . . “This is a library that never burned.” She breathed. The king was watching her, smiling at her wonder. “You . . . you must have all the history books here, don't you? The actual history of the four kingdoms before the Spring Invasion!”

“It might be rattling about, yes.”

“If Summer knew you had this we would have been begging you for a better alliance.”

“Strange, considering it was your people who burned the libraries in the first place.” The king pointed out. He flew over to a desk which was piled with wooden boxes. There was dust laying heavily on them, though it had been disturbed, as if someone had recently moved them. Marianne noted the size of the hand prints in the dust and deduced the king had been shuffling boxes around.

“The sins of my ancestors are not mine. If I had been there you can be sure I'd have a few things to say about the idea of destroying our history.”

“I find it hard to imagine a situation where you _wouldn't_ have a few things to say. This is all materials on . . . love potions.” He curling in on himself again, going quiet and withdrawn. “You can look it over yourself, but I can give you a summary. You understand how the potion works?”

“Dust it in somebody's eyes and the first person they see they'll fall in love with.”

“Yes and no.” The king tapped the box, stirring up the dust. “There are variations of the potion and what it essentially boils down to is a specialized form of control. It forces you to think and feel in ways you don't chose to, and so your mind fights against it. The more subtle versions have to be carefully planned, but any version of the potion needs a hook, something in your mind to catch on, a space to fill.”

“What, really?”

“Yes. The potion induces an unreality and to keep your mind from breaking out of it the potion has to confuse truth and untruth. It's why the potion won't make you fall in love with a family member—it's why--” He stopped, biting his lips closed. After a moment of consideration he continued, more slowly, “It's why . . . why it won't work on someone who is . . .” He rubbed at the back of his neck, “Somebody who is actually in love. There's no space for the potion to fill.”

“Okay, I've heard about true love breaking love potions, but that obviously isn't going to work here. What else? Can an antidote be made?”

“Not true love. _Real_ love.”

“Is there a difference?” Marianne shrugged, unconcerned with the precise word of anything related to romance.

“I don't know, “ The king shrugged, “but the text is very specific about it. As for an antidote, I'm not sure. Perhaps. If you could find someone with the skills.”

“Don't you have a sorcerer? Let's ask them!” Marianne stood up, ready to be pointed in the right direction.

The king's face turned sullen and he looked away. “There are no sorcerers in Autumn.”

“No? But--?”

“None.” The word was flat and final.

“Okay, what else then?” Marianne let the topic drop for the moment, but she was certain the Autumn _did_ have a sorcerer. Who else made the love potions, enchanted the amber, sealed the border? But she didn't want their discussion to get sidetracked by arguing, so she'd save that for later.

“It isn't real so it might be broken by something _very_ real. Danger, fear . . . shock. But if the potion has been sitting for—years, I suppose—who knows how potent it is? It might explain why she . . . um.”

“Fell in love with you?”

He looked so upset, Marianne couldn't understand it. “It doesn't make any sense!” He threw out his hands, “There shouldn't have been a space for the potion to fit itself into, nothing that could even for a moment make anyone . . . not with _me_.” He stopped and sat down. He coughed to cover his embarrassment and returned to the boxes, rummaging through them and handing the Summer Heir anything he thought worth looking at.

“It really bothers you that Dawn is in love with you.” Marianne spoke up after going through a few notebooks. “I know she's a little much, but this seems to be really getting to you.”

“It's that she's being forced into this situation at all. That she's deluded into loving _me_ is just that much worse. It isn't _real_.” The Autumn King said, “Everything you do or say while under its influence—you have no idea what was _you_ and what was the potion. Even things that came before and . . . after. Afterwards you watch your step, think over everything twice, wondering if you would have thought of that or it's some lingering influence of that . . . stuff.”

“Bog . . .” He looked up at the sound of his name, wing flickering. It was the first time she had ever said his name. “Bog, why do you have so much research about love potions?”

He looked away. “It isn't that much.”

“This huge pile? All these boxes? I _can_ recognize your handwriting, you know. You wrote these notes. What happened?”

“Nothing _happened_!” He snarled.

“Something obviously did! Why else would you take the time to compile all of this research? Most of it concerned with antidotes? What happened?”

“Nothing that concerns you!”

“Bog.” Marianne grabbed the king by the edge of the carapace, where his shell curled away from his neck. Yanking him down she looked him straight in the eye, “Try and brush me off one more time and I'll start making serious attempts to crack your armor open. Got it?”

“Ah, got it.”

“Good. Now, I'm not going to push you to confide anything personal, _but_ if you think that it might be at all pertinent to helping my sister then, _please_ , tell me.”

The king let his head hang down and he sighed, the warmth of it brushing across Marianne's arm. A little late, she remembered to release her hold on him. His head rose the barest bit, enough so that looking up from under his heavy brows he could see her face. “It . . . might be important.” He admitted.

Marianne hopped up to sit on the table so that she was facing the king, nearly at his own level. He had his face covered with one hand. Without moving it he said, “Four months. That was hold long the potion held. And for all my research I cannot figure out why it did not simply last forever. It was a more subtle recipe and I suppose all the more insidious for it.”

For a moment he fell silent, waiting for the Summer Heir to ask a question, push for further information. It was within her rights to do so, he thought, perfectly within her rights to shout at him, demand answers. It would have been easier if she did. Instead she remained silent, waiting for the king to gather his thoughts and continue. If she just pushed then he could push back, he could shout too and tear the conversation away from the subject. What would she think of him when he finally said the words? She was the Summer Heir, smart and strong and far more ready to be a monarch than he had been or ever would be. She couldn't possibly understand what it was to be weak, to fail. But, then again, she probably thought little of him to begin with. He peeked through his fingers at the gashes and bruising that marked the Summer Heir's expectant face and knew that either way she would scorn him, so he might as well help her.

“Someone I once knew . . .” The king began, “Was quite fond of beginning her stories with the words, “One Fateful Day”. Though I'm not sure which day it was that was so fateful: the day the potion was applied, or the day it wore off. I certainly remember the latter best. I had just been told that there had been a skirmish at the border, that Summer had betrayed us and killed several of my people . . .”

“That _was_ a fateful day.” Marianne agreed, “For everyone.”

“When I heard this . . . my eyes . . . the potion . . . the enchantment broke. And I looked at _her_ \--”

“Elvira?” Marianne guessed.

He growled and shifted in his seat. That's right, lovestruck fool that he had been, he had written to her, all about it no doubt. “I looked at her and that horrible pink haze was gone . . . My council had decided that their unsatisfactory king must be kept in line, you see. So they picked a clever and cooperative young goblin for me to become besotted with and she carefully guided me in what the council thought was the appropriate direction.”

Marianne didn't know what to say. At the start of this conversation she had been expecting to hear a story about the Autumn King using the potion on a girl and regretting the act, trying to find a way to break it. Now she could see that it wasn't regret, but pain that made him shy away from the story. The pain and shame of being made a fool of, for being manipulated. This vast heap of research, it was all in aid of preventing a second occurrence.

“I was never sure—never will be sure—which decisions I made during that time and which were made for me. Or if anything was my choice, if it was all tainted by the potion. It takes away your choice. Your sister . . . no one should have that taken away. No one.”

“It was the news of Summers betrayal that broke it?”

“Maybe. I don't know. Before that, though, my eyes had started to itch and burn.” He ran a claw underneath his eyes, remembering the irritation, the feeling of something building within him. “Perhaps the news broke it, but before that something was weakening it . . . I don't know what. Maybe . . . maybe some part of me knew that no one would actually ever love me . . . the boyking of Autumn, too hideous, too worthless to love.”

“You're _not_.”

The king looked up, surprised by the emphatic tone. He looked up into brown eyes, the light catching them so that they were blazing gold.

“You're not hideous and you are definitely not worthless. The first Autumn King in untold generations bold enough to walk into the Summer lands and be seen. To take his rightful place among the rulers of the Four Kingdoms. Brave enough to accept the hand offered him in friendship.” She was gesturing expansively again and the king had to put his hand over a stack of books before they tipped over.

“But then I destroyed it all. You held out your hand and I turned away.”

“But you took it again tonight.” And her hand was held out to him again at that moment. It reached out and slid along the length of his arm, his wrist, and underneath his fingers. The tiny hand that moved mountains and yet got lost in the vastness of his own hand.

“Anyway,” Her fingers moved over his hand, feeling the roughness him, the hard edge of his armor on the back of his hand. “I know all about getting your heart broken. I almost married someone who didn't love me, remember? It's not real, but it still hurts. And real things are what wake you up, potion or not. You think you're weak, but what about me? I don't even have a love potion to excuse my shortcomings. But the worst part of everything? My blindness cost me our friendship. If I had just seen Roland for what he really is, if I had just seen the truth . . . What kind of queen will I be if I'm such a fool.” She let go of his hand and wrapped her arms around herself.

“What kind of queen?” The Autumn King almost laughed, “The words that spring to mind at first thought are “magnificent” and “unstoppable”. I just don't understand how that yellow-tufted fool managed to deceive you at all.”

“Oh, he was perfect.” Marianne huffed out a scornful breath. “He fit in the pattern that the good little Summer Heir should follow. Rich, handsome, powerful family, he fit all the criteria and I thought I should be happy because this is what I had been told happiness was. He paid me compliments and I thought that was what love meant. It was just the surface of somebody else's idea of love, but I believed in it, invested in it. And when I found out what he was, it hurt . . .” She closed her eyes for a moment. “It hurt, and not just because he'd made a fool of me. I loved him. Or who I thought he was. I loved him but I didn't know him.”

She seemed to give herself a shake and went on quickly. “Even then I thought, at least I still had you.” She bit her lips and rushed on again, “I mean, our friendship. Bringing our kingdoms together. And then you wouldn't even listen to me. You thought I was conspiring with Roland.” The name was spat out like a curse. “But that was my fault. If I could have just seen through his cheap glamor. If I could have just been a _proper_ Summer Heir. But I couldn't be the proper heir, so I stopped following the pattern.”

“Pattern?” A chuckle spilled out of the king, “When have you ever followed the pattern anyone else set out for you?”

“Only most of my life.”

“You?” The king's face was scrunched in thoughtful amusement as he sought for the proper arrangement of words to describe what he thought of the Summer Heir, “You who held out a hand to Autumn and asked him to dance?”

“That's going to be written on my tombstone,” Marianne muttered. “It was just . . . it was what the Summer Heir ought to have done, so I did it.”

“Ought? I don't know if it's what you _ought_ to have done, but it isn't what anyone expected you to do. Did the prince of Spring shake my hand? Did the Winter Queen do more than acknowledge my presence? Of course not. Whatever pattern they were following, you weren't. When I saw you tonight—when you tried to take my head off—I thought “she has changed. Like a different person.” Then, after a little while I realized that you hadn't changed, not like I thought. You are just . . . more of yourself. Like you had grown . . . brighter.” He paused and looked at her, shy blue eyes appraising her reaction. “There are new aspects, but they were always there. I just didn't see them. Hadn't know you well enough yet.”

“That's the first time . . . you're the only one who has said that I'm . . . still me. Everyone, my father and my family, they all say exactly that: that I've become like another person. And it hurts so much because those words make me a stranger, push me away. Reject who I am. Nobody . . . nobody _sees_ me anymore. They saw The Summer Heir.” She pronounced the words with gravitas, “The perfect princess.”

“How are you not?”

“What?”

“Ah, um, I mean . . .” The king trailed off and Marianne couldn't help but smile at his bashfulness. “You obviously love your people, know how to run a kingdom inside and out, and you fight for it like a ruddy demon. What exactly are you lacking?”

“Silk. Too much steel, not enough silk.” The king tilted his head, confused, waiting for her to continue. “I suppose it's hard to understand from the outside. I'm supposed to be strong, but quiet. Confident, but not intimidating. Passionate, but not angry. And I'm so angry, all the time.”

“And it eats up everything else inside you and you say things . . . _do_ things . . .” He flicked a glance at the Summer Heir's bruised skin, “That you know are wrong, but you can't stop.”

“Everyone disapproves, or lectures you, but nobody . . .”

“No one fights back.” No one met the challenge you declared with the fire in your eyes. When you raised your sword no blade rose to meet yours. You're begging for someone to understand, to stop you, but they just . . . turn away. “I've missed you.” The words slipped out and his eyes widened when he realized his misstep. “Ah, um, I mean . . .” He turned away, flustered.

“I've missed your letters, too.” Marianne said, smiling a little. “Is it weird if I say you were my best friend?”

“What?” He looked at her again.

“I know, I know.” Marianne said, “But you were. From the moment we met you were strangely real. All my life Autumn had just been, well, nothing. Speaking of realities and unrealities, I suppose. Then you came to the ball and there were dragonflies and it was different and beautiful. And you were absolutely menacing.”

“Thank you.” He sketched a bow from where he sat.

“At first.” She pointed a contradicting finger, “I wondered what devious plans you might have in mind and if I should push the throne on top of you.”

“Before we'd even properly met and you were plotting my downfall? I'm not sure if I'm scared or complimented.”

“Don't be complimented. I saw in a moment how completely terrified you were to be there.”

“I was not terrified!” Bog rolled his head back and clutched at the air in frustration.

“Absolutely petrified.” Marianne insisted. “If it's any comfort, I don't think anyone else noticed. Too busy wondering if you were going to eat them. But I noticed and it just made you a person to me. Not a goblin, or the almighty Autumn King. Just a person who didn't like being at our stuffy ball. But you didn't entirely hate the ball, did you?” She tilted her head.

“Not . . . entirely.” His accent stretched the words out beyond their usual length and a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “You were very, um, real. Too.” Confident princess, in her element, her place of power. He had not know of her fire then but he had seen the light cast by it. This was her kingdom and she had no need to be afraid. She would take the hand of the terrible Autumn King without a trace of disgust or fear.

* * *

 Marianne and Bog were deep in discussion over the exact wording in a particular paragraph in the notes when the messages arrived. To be more exact, Marianne and Bog were engaged in a duel across the table, armed with their pens, while they argued about whether the passage was literal or figurative.

The door bursting open distracted Bog enough to allow Marianne to disarm him and take the second pen for herself. He shot a growl at her before turning to see Stuff and Thang skittering toward him. Mere seconds behind them was Roderick, who flew into the room, wing beats disturbing the papers when he stopped in front of the table.

“Not even arguing?” Roderick looked disappointed, resting his spear across his shoulder. Marianne set the pens down and tried to look innocent. Bog shot her a look before turning to the messengers. He spoke to the hobgoblins first because he always put off talking to Roderick as long as possible.

“What?”

“Sire, sire!” Thang said, “The messenger you sent to the Summer King? She's gone missing!”

“Missing? Then trace the seal on her bag.”

“It's not there, sire, we looked.”

“Not there?” Bog stood and reached for his staff. He planted the end of it on the floor and looked at the amber glinting at its head. Marianne slipped from her chair and came around so she could see past the king's broad shoulders. She was just in time to see the amber light up in a steady glow, encircling the king in a golden spotlight. Strands of light broke away and hovered independently in the air an in moments the light formed a map in the circle around the king, outlining trees and pathways, and glinting lights moved to show what appeared to be goblins going about their business. With a wave of his hand the king dismissed most of the moving lights, leaving a handful scattered around the golden replica of the forest. One by one he inspected the remaining lights and dismissed them until there were none left.

“That's all the messengers active right now. She's not in the network.” He turned away and the forest of light dissolved behind him. “The _amber_ isn't in the network. Even if it had been destroyed there would be traces, it's like someone turned it off.”

“Can you do that? Turn off the enchantment?” Marianne asked.

“Yeah, but only old Skyeyes here is supposed to be able to do it.” Roderick pointed at his cousin, “So if somebody else is playing with our toys we're probably in a hilarious amount of trouble.” He threw out his arms and fell back against the wall, huge and inappropriate grin on his face. “Anyway, wish I could have gone first, hate to follow that up with more glad tidings. But Addy sent me over to tell you that the little princess isn't feeling so good.”

* * *

 Dawn was curled up on her bed, Lysander holding her and patting her back while she cried. Marianne went in alone, leaving the king to wait in the hall. Adeline pulled Marianne to the side before Dawn saw her. “She's not sick, physically, I think it's a reaction to the love potion. I don't know, I'm a nurse not a sorcerer. I could sedate her, but I'm not sure how that would react to magic. She saw Roderick and started crying.”

“What did he _do_?” Marianne demanded in a hissed whisper.

“Nothing!” Adeline said quickly, “She just _saw_ him. In the doorway for about ten seconds before I made him leave. Then she started talking about her friend Sunny and asking where he is. And then she was back to asking where the Autumn King is. She's worked herself up and now she's got a fever.”

“Where's Sunny?” Dawn cried into Lysander's shoulder, “I let go of his hand! It's all my fault if something happens to him? Where's Sunny? Where's Boggy? I miss Boggy! Marianne, Marianne, where is he?” Dawn caught Marianne's hand in her own, blue eyes feverishly bright. “You'll find him, right Marianne?”

“Of course I will.” Marianne kissed her sister's forehead, feeling the heat of Dawn's skin.

“Bog!” Only consideration for Dawn kept Marianne from slamming the door shut behind her. The king had been standing by the wall to the side of the door to make sure he was out of sight of the younger princess. He flicked his wings and flew to the side when Marianne shouted at him. “Where's the sorcerer?”

“There isn't a sorcerer.”

“This is not the time for secrets! I'm not an idiot! Someone has to enchant the amber, set up all these spells. I don't know if a sorcerer can help Dawn or not, but we're going to at least ask them!”

“There isn't any sorcerer!”

“Yes, there is.” Adeline spoke up, face pale and voice tight. “I wouldn't contradict you, but it's my job to make sure the princess gets the best possible care.”

The king looked at the fairy like she was a piece of furniture that had suddenly found a voice. “I don't know what secrets Roderick has been telling you now, but . . .”

“No.” Adeline said firmly, “He didn't tell me. It's just the worst kept secret in Autumn that Boggart Skyeyes is a sorcerer.”

It was the suddenness that was startling. Over the night Marianne had grown used to the king's growls and snarls, taking them in stride. If he had merely grated out a denial, told Adeline to shut up, it would have been standard fare. But he turned on the tiny fairy nurse with rage barely contained.

“ _I am not a sorcerer_!” He roared, all teeth and claws and fury. Adeline stepped back, arms wrapped around herself, clearly frightened.

Marianne swiftly stepped in front of Adeline, arm out to ward off the king. At about the same moment Roderick grabbed his cousin, throwing him into the wall, the staff flying from Bog's grip. There was a dry crunch and crack of the king's armor smashing into the wall, but it seemed the wood had taken more damage than the goblin. In a flash Roderick slammed his false arm against his cousin's throat, his other hand curved toward the king's face. “Don't you _ever_ speak to Addy like that! She is not your punching bag!” The king just growled in response, a deep rumble that reverberated in his chest. Marianne could tell that the cousins were about to fight and she had no doubt that an all out confrontation between the two would be a bloody exchange even without weapons. Or maybe _because_ they were without weapons. Once again Marianne noted their lethal claws and fangs and remembered how the Autumn King had torn through armor like it was parchment.

Sword in her hand, Marianne pushed Adeline toward the door, waiting until the trembling nurse was safely out of the way before approaching Roderick and the king. The point of her sword pricked the underside of Roderick's chin. He glanced down, growling at this interference. “Move. Please.” Marianne said. Roderick snarled at her but she just pushed the sword more firmly into his exposed skin, never breaking eye contact. Reluctantly he released the king and backed away, wings still spread out full behind him.

Lowering her blade, she turned to the king. He was hunched over, breathing hard and looking daggers at his cousin. “I don't care about explanations or excuses right now. Just tell me truthfully if you can help my sister, Autumn King.”

“I cannot break the potion's hold, if that's what you want. But I think I can . . . I think I can calm her down.”

“Then do it.”

* * *

 

The king stood over the bed, impossibly tall and fearsome looking. Lysander tightened his hold on the sobbing Dawn and watched in wide-eyed silence. Carefully, the king knelt down on the floor, reducing his height to more manageable levels. “Princess,” He said, voice deliberately gentle. Dawn perked up through her tears and threw herself at the king. Marianne could tell he was trying very hard not to move and she could see his teeth gritting together when Dawn pinched his chin, giggling. Then Dawn's eyes refilled with tears and she rubbed at them fretfully. Sand had retreated to the very edge of the bed, trying to take up as little space as possible.

“Boggy, my eyes itch.” She said, “And I lost Sunny. Have you seen Sunny? He's my best friend.”

“We're looking for him.” The king assured her, hands held out uncertainly on either side. If he wasn't pushing the princess away he didn't know what to do with his hands. With the older princess he knew where he stood, knew that she would match him blow for blow in any fight be it with swords or words. But this fragile little creature was looking up at him with absolute trust, confident that he would never hurt her. It was just the potion, he reminded himself. If she was in her right mind she would be as terrified as Adeline.

He shouldn't have lashed out at the little fairy nurse. She had been scared to even speak to him, there was no victory in terrifying her. But wasn't that how he met every challenge, every contradiction? By terrifying the opposition into silence? Raging and bellowing to prove his strength, his power. It had become instinct. He hated that it had.

“You promise? Cross your heart?” The little princess sniffled.

“I promise.” But he was looking at Marianne when he said it. He would make this right, he would fix it, he promised. “Would you do something for me, please?”

“Of course!” She snuggled up to him.

“I need you to sleep now.” He said, prying her arms loose and guiding her to sit on the bed, resting one hand on her shoulder. “You're not well and you need to rest. Will you sleep?”

“Anything for you, Boggy Woggy!” She grabbed the hand he had on her shoulder in both of hers.

He ignored the nickname and seized upon the agreement. Once he had her agreement he could begin the spell. Blue light shimmered in the grooves of his hand. Slowly, with the utmost care, he touched Dawn's forehead. The blue light was drawn into her eyes for a moment before they closed and she went heavy. Bog caught her and laid her down on the bed. Even in her sleep she was loathe to release him and he had to extract his fingers from her grasp.

“That should hold indefinitely.” He said, aware that Marianne and Sand were watching him intently. It didn't escape his notice how the two of them seemed to be managing a conversation purely through looks and gestures.

“What's wrong?” Sand asked, addressing the king directly and voluntarily for the first time. “Is she going to be okay?”

“She's fighting the potion. It was old and potent, but it wasn't designed to cut against the grain like this. This way she'll be calm while we find a solution. She's fine.”

He could see in Marianne's face that she had head the unspoken addendum of “She's fine _for now_.” She held his gaze for a moment before turning back to her sister. She dropped a kiss on her sister's forehead and brushed the hair back from Dawn's face. Her movements were brisk but her affection for her siblings was obvious. She stood up straight, “Let's get back to work.”

* * *

“Boggart Skyeyes of Autumn!”

The voice nearly bowled them all over before they even saw the little goblin woman with her dress of leaves and crown of gray rocks. The Autumn King covered his face and muttered something under his breath. Marianne was fairly sure it was a plea for help. He had just dismissed Stuff and Thang with instructions to begin a search for the missing messenger as well as Sunny and the dagger.

“Mother . . .” He said out loud.

“What have you been _saying_ to that poor little fairy nurse of Roderick's?” The queen mother demanded, “She came to pick up little Gwill and she was white as a mushroom and shaking hard to enough to fly apart! Not to mention Rod looking as dour as you!”

“Mother, we're in the middle of something right now . . .”

“I want you to march right over there, young gob, and apologize to that lovely child for what you did!”

“Mother, this is Princess Marianne, the Summer Heir. Marianne, this is my mother Griselda.” Bog was completely deadpan as he made introductions to this ranting mother. He was reaching maximum capacity for stress and exasperation and was starting to feel a little dead inside. He saw Marianne trying to hide a smile.

“I raised you better than—oooh!” Griselda was suddenly diverted when she realized what her son was saying, “Oh, yes, I met her earlier when I was bringing the tea!” She clasped her hands together and smiled her wide smile. “What a lovely young lady. And very talented with a sword from what I hear.”

Bog had thought he had gone numb, but when he recognized that particular tone in his mother's voice a wave of pure horror went through him. “Mother!”

Marianne was unaware of the exact cause of Bog's discomfort, but was amused by it nonetheless. Sand, who had been lurking behind her, was quietly coughing to stop himself from laughing. The mystique of the Autumn King could only stand up for so long when faced with an uninhibited Dawn and a nagging mother.

Marianne's merriment was cute short when Griselda turned the full force of her attention on the Summer princess, reaching up and patting her cheeks. In a hoarse and completely audible whisper she asked, “Don't you have a comb, dear?” Marianne smiled nervously and leaned away.

“Mom!” Bog said again.

“I suppose a nice girl like you has a sweetheart, hm?” Griselda asked.

“No . . . not at the moment?” Was Marianne's uncertain reply. She did not altogether like the gleam she saw in the goblin woman's eyes, even if she wasn't sure what it meant.

“Oh, that's too bad!” Griselda blared with overwhelming cheer.

“Mom!” Bog managed to get Griselda's attention, “We don't have time for this!”

“You don't have time for anything! Not even sleep, apparently. I try and take care of you but you won't let me. What's a mother to do? And don't think I've forgotten about poor Adeline! Sweet little blossom, you've no call to be bullying her.”

“I wasn't—!”

“No excuses! Get your sticks over there and say you're sorry!”

The king looked toward the ceiling as if the solution to his problems was written up among the tiny rootlets that dangled there. Pinching the bridge of his nose he said, “I very much doubt that either my cousin or his friend will want to see me right now.” Griselda opened her generous mouth to insist but Bog held up a finger to motion her into silence, “So, mother, if you would convey my apologies . . . to _both_ of them, I suppose . . . and tell them I regret my actions. They were uncalled for and unnecessary.”

“Humph.” Griselda thought for a moment, “I suppose that will do, you grumpy pine cone. For the moment. In the morning you are going to convey a proper apology in person, got it?”

“We'll discuss that in the morning.” Bog said wearily.

“You bet we will! Lovely seeing you again, dear!” Griselda waved at Marianne before trotting off on whatever errands propelled her on endless circuits of the castle throughout the day.

“Stop it.” Bog said from behind his hand.

“We weren't doing anything.” Marianne said, elbowing her brother to cut off his laughing. Sand elbowed her back.

“I can _hear_ you two snickering.”

* * *

“If you're not a sorcerer than what was that in there with Dawn? That was magic. Unaided magic. All the kingdoms have the odd charm and tool floating around, but nobody can just summon magic anymore.”

The question made the king growl and his shoulder plates flexed out and in again with a sharp clack clack. They were standing in the storage rooms where Dawn and Sand had been found. The king had opened doorways and revealed that the laboratory was more extensive than just one room. Sand was examining the fateful cupboard while Marianne questioned the king.

Right now she raised an eyebrow at the king and his bristling subsided and he looked away, running the tip of one claw underneath his eyes. “I've heard a fair bit of that accusation over the years. No, I'm no sorcerer, I just know a few old tricks.”

“What does a “few old tricks” consist of, exactly, Bog? Because this would have been good information to know earlier!”

“I know enough to enchant the amber, as all the kings before me have known. Not much else.”

“What else?”

“You're not going to let this go.” He considered. This was a good opportunity to try something he'd been wanting to do all night. “Hold still.” Blue light flickered in the grooves of his hand and he laid his fingers against her jaw, but not before checking to see if she objected. Marianne nodded her assent. She felt the heat draw out of her skin, the dull ache of the wounds die away. But she saw the slight wince in Bog's features and the threads of red etch across his hand. She shoved his hand away. “Stop!”

He jerked away and flew backward as far as the room would allow. “I'm sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No, you idiot, you're hurting yourself!” The wounds on her face had closed, she could feel the faint traces of the joins still there, but the bruising was gone. “Don't ever do that again!”

“I just wanted to make it right.”

“Don't!”

“I'm sorry.”

“Let me see.” She took his hand and saw the dark lines, the brown bruising on his gray skin. “Not a very useful spell, if it only moves the wound to another person.”

“It can help balance things.”

He really took everything harder than she did, Marianne thought. Her bruises, Dawn's state, he kept trying to take all the hurt into himself. “Nothing needed to be balanced. You hurt me, I hurt you. Seems pretty even to me.”

“I don't think it works like that. Wound for wound and call it even.”

“Maybe. But don't you ever--”

“Marianne.” Sand spoke up, “He's just trying to apologize. And your cuts are still kind of there, you won't lose your cool scars.”

“Sand . . .”

Sand pointed a finger. “Behave yourself, young lady. We came down here to work, not bicker. And seeing as I'm the only one here that's probably had any sleep and is thinking clearly I think that puts me in charge.”

“Well, when did you find your tongue, boy?” The king asked, thinking that the prince was definitely Marianne's brother.

“About the same time I remembered you're only two years older than me.” Sand retorted.

“Then why do you stand all the way on the other side of the room when I come in?”

“Because you're _huge_ and I'm not _stupid_.” The prince opened a box and was peering inside. “But I do know that if you tried to hurt me Marianne would kill you, so I'm not terribly worried about it. And your mother likes me.”

“Her favor is not a blessing.” The king muttered.

After some dutiful searching Lysander discovered a closet that contained some interesting looking artifacts. They were looking for potions and books, but a glowing blue sphere made of spiderwebs seemed to be possibly useful. Definitely magical. It was suspended in the a crooked half-circled at the top of a twisted branch.

“Is this a . . . sorcerer's trap?” Lysander had only ever seen pictures. It was something out of a bedtime story. The blue light of a magic prison, a piece of the veil that separated the Four Kingdoms from the human realms.

“What?” Marianne flew over, flicking her wings in to pass through a narrow opening between stacks of boxes. “Just left laying around?”

“What does it matter?” The king snatched the branch from Lysander's hand, “It's empty and there has been no need for it.”

“Then why was it ever made?” Marianne countered, “Why would there be a trap and no sorcerer?”

“There is no sorcerer in Autumn . . . anymore.” The king turned the trap around, watching the threads shimmer. “There was once. Not anymore. I should have taken this apart years ago.”

The stories say that sorcerers were forced to build their own prisons.” Marianne said. Sand shot her a warning look. She made a face at him.

“I'm still not a sorcerer, princess.” Bog growled. He planted the stick in the floor so that the trap stood by itself.

“Is it such a bad thing, to be thought of as a sorcerer?” Sand asked, getting in the questions before his sister could and trying to phrase it less harshly than she would.

“Yes. No. I don't know. Sorcerers have been useful tools, locked up in traps.”He picked at the strands of the globe with his claws. “No one thinks of them as . . . people. To be called a sorcerer is to be called less. Not right.”

“I didn't mean to imply that.” Marianne said, walking over to where he stood, watching as he manipulated the sorcerer's trap with his claws, unexpectedly nimble and delicate. “The only things I know about sorcerers and old magic is from bedtime stories.” She watched him unwind the webbing for a bit, waiting until he had a small spool of luminescent blue webbing wound into a ball before asking, “You can do magic? Is that why they wondered if . . .?”

“No.” His voice was softer now, anger forgotten as he focused on his task, “It's because I have the wrong eyes.”

“The wrong eyes?” Marianne peered up so she could look into his clear blue eyes through the spiderweb. He turned his head away, as if trying to hide his incorrect eyes. She followed him, refusing to let him escape, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, “Which eyes should you have if not the ones you've got?”

“Kings have brown eyes,” He spoke to the wall, steadfastly refusing to meet Marianne's tilted gaze. “They have yellow eyes. Golden eyes. Eyes the color of amber. My father had eyes just the color of the amber in the scepter. Kings don't have blue eyes—blue is the color of magic and sorcerers.”

“Are they from your mother's side of the family, then?”

“No.” He risked a glance and found Marianne was just inches away from him, hands behind her back, bent forward, waiting to meet his eyes. He flicked his gaze back to the wall. The webs had become tangled in his fingers. “Blue is not a color for goblin eyes. It doesn't blend. Either there's some fairy or jotunn blood somewhere in the family or it's a mutation. It is considered to be ill-omened.”

“But I've always liked your eyes!”

The Autumn King turned his head at last. “What?” He asked, incredulous.

Marianne coughed and reached to tuck her hair back, even though it was too short to stay. “Ah, I meant, they were one of the first things I noticed about you when we first met.” She backed up, feeling her face grow warm, “You were like a great gray shadow but then I saw your eyes and . . . somehow for being the only bit of bright color to you that made them more . . . vibrant. More . . . alive.” She faltered because his bright blue eyes were fixed on her now and his expression was a mix of confusion and wonder, mouth parted slightly over sharp teeth. She did not think she had ever seem him look so unguarded. “I always thought you had . . . nice eyes.”

“You . . .” His brogue was unusually thick now, “You think my eyes . . .” He bent his head, one web tangled hand brushing underneath his eyes, but he looked up again, from under his heavy brow, “Your eyes were the first thing I noticed, too.”

“What?” Marianne had lost track of where this conversation had begun and where it was going but somehow they had ended up here, not even two feet of space between them.

“When you asked me to dance,” The king's hands began to untangle the web again, apparently independent of his thoughts, “I wondered why. Was it a trick to make me look a fool? Simple fairy politeness? Or were you trying to prove you weren't afraid of the fearsome Autumn King? But when I looked into your eyes, they . . . they had no fear in them to disprove. The light on the thrones was so bright and when you looked up at me the light caught in your eyes and they glowed . . . like amber.” One hand was free from the tangle and he reached out, fingers spread, making a slow gesture toward Marianne's eyes. He dropped his hand. “At the time I took it as a good sign.”

For a few minutes there was silence. The king finished unraveling the webbing and rolled it up into a ball. Marianne picked through some papers, not taking in any of the text she was skimming. Both of them steadfastly ignored the burning in their cheeks. Across the room Sand sat with a pile of books, amused to have been so completely forgotten by Marianne and the king.

“There was a sorcerer here? Once?” Marianne said, a little too quickly.

“Ah?” the King said, “Oh, yes. Yes. Until . . . a few years ago. She taught the kings of Autumn how to raise the thorn barrier and enchant the amber. There hadn't been much call for her in recent times, since the borders had been closed so long.”

“So she was released?”

“No.”

The tone of his voice made her curious. “What happened to her?”

“When the Autumn King dies his spells hold for a few days. Enough time for the successor to create replacements.” The ball of web glowed as he held it up between thumb and forefinger. “The sorcerer is transferred from her old prison to her new one. But I . . .” A look of pain crossed his face, “That's where it all went wrong.”

“What happened?” Marianne came closer again, “Did the new spell go wrong?”

“The new spell was perfect. Even empty and discarded it hasn't decayed.” He rolled the ball around in his hand. “And Sugar Plum never saw the inside of it. My first act as king of Autumn was to honor a promise and . . . set her free.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much talking! Butterfly Bog really dragged me down with all their flirting. Plot progresses in the next chapter, I swear. And I hate myself for it, but the chapter cuts off right before Bog explains about the civil war that Autumn's been dealing with. I'm so sorry.
> 
> Sand is slowly realizing Bog is a total dork and not to be feared.
> 
> Never fear, the boutonniere isn't gone for good.
> 
> Roderick still has a lot to say to Bog about Adeline.
> 
> Magic works best with consent. That is, non-harmful magic does. If you don't care what happens to the person or thing you're enchanting you can just go nuts and do whatever. That's why love potions are so tricky, because the recipient doesn't get a choice.
> 
> And I still haven't answered exactly why the potion wore off of Bog, but I WILL. I swear I will.


	18. Chapter 17: Civil War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The circumstances leading up to Autumn’s Civil War and a Look at The Autumn King's Childhood

“Small, isn't he?”

“Those _blue_ _eyes_. Not natural!”

“Obviously he won't be fit to rule. The trials will weed him out early on. No doubt he won't even pass the first one.”

The whispers had always been there, for as long as he could remember. Nagging at the edges of his hearing, never showing a face to match the voice. If the young prince could have put a face to the whispering then he would have a foe. Foes, enemies, they lied and tricked but could be fought. But the whispers floated independently, as if they were too great to be mere spoken words, but existed as a separate and solid reality. People lied, people gossiped, but those insistent whispers . . . why would they exist if they weren't true?

He never asked anyone about it. It was an unquestioned fact that was woven into the fabric of his life. It was not something to be removed or covered, it simply was. The prince spent a lot of time looking at other people's eyes, looking for anything like his. His mother's beady little brown eyes, his father's laughing amber ones, cousin Roderick's mocking brown. The only eyes anything like his were the eyes of the sorcerer, but he wasn't sure she counted because she was blue all over.

* * *

 

“Well,” The queen's voice rasped into the empty bedroom, “His clothes are here, but the prince isn't. Did he melt, I wonder? He better have, because when I find him he's gonna wish he'd never been born!”

Underneath the bed the seven year old prince pushed himself further into the corner, grimly determined not to be found. But his mother made quick work of her search and in mere moments she was on her knees, wide face appearing in her son's line of sight, her braid of reddish hair falling over her shoulder and trailing on the floor. “Not a puddle, then?”

“Of course not.” Bog said sullenly, knowing he was caught but refusing to surrender willingly. He crossed his arms and glared out from under his leafy brow. He shared his father's leafy forehead ridges, but while the king's were laid back in neat and crown-like lines the young prince's tended to stick out in wild disarray.

“Looks cozy under there. Comfortable?”

“I'm fine.”

“Then make room.” Griselda crawled under, small enough in stature for it not to be too much of a tight squeeze. She rested her chin on her crossed arms, facing her son. “Okay, baby, what's wrong? Thought you were excited.”

The choice of word might not have been entirely accurate. Rather than excited, the prince has been anxious. Today was an important trial, a step toward proving he had the qualifications to be the next king of Autumn. Bog was sure that he would fail. But saying that out loud might cement it in reality instead of letting it continue to hang nebulously above his head where it might still be nothing more than a bad dream.

So instead he squirmed and said, “ _Rod_ is going to be there, dad said.”

“And what's so wrong with your cousin?”

“He's stupid. He's fuzzy. He laughs at me.”

“Laugh back, then. Or punch him in the eye.”

“He's bigger. He always wins. And he doesn't have to wear _clothes_.”

“Your cousin is older and not so soft as you.” Griselda poked Bog's arm. He had been born with an exoskeleton like his father but he was young and the plates were still soft and malleable. While the king was a deep brown color, tinged with dark green, the prince was greenish-gray and prone to bruising himself. Griselda worried about her little boy and insisted he be clothed and therefore guarded against inadvertent injury. Roderick was four years older and, at the age of eleven, his velveteen covered armor was already starting to harden and he insisted he didn't need any itchy clothes, that he was all grown up, and his parents indulged him.

“You're still my squishy little baby boy!” Griselda cooed.

“Mom!” Bog said in horrified tones.

“Give your mom a kiss, you cuddly little mushroom.”

“Moooom!” Bog wiggled past her and out from under the bed. Just in time for the king to grab him by the arm and hoist him up in the air. “Dad!” The prince said, slightly apprehensive. Over his father's shoulder he could see the royal scepter leaning against the door, its amber eye winking at him.

“I had this idea in my head,” Boomed the king in his thick brogue, “That we were suppose to be gathering downstairs. Has the party been moved to under the bed?”

“It would be if your son had any say in the matter.” Grisdela crawled out from under the bed, bumping her horns against the bed frame. “Ow.”

“Oooh,” The king looked at his son, “You must have been misbehaving, boy. You know you're only _my_ son when you're in trouble.” The young prince gave a creaky growl and struggled in his father's grip. The king chuckled and gathered his son up and sat him in the crook of his arm. “What are you doing, cowering under the bed?”

“I wasn't!” The prince bounced up and down, kicking his feet against his father's armor. “I don't want to go because it's _stupid._ Let's fight instead!” The prince crawled up onto his father's shoulder and wound his stick-thin arms around the king's neck as if to put him in a wrestling hold.

“No, no,” The king plucked his son's arms and adjusted their position, “If you want to bring me down you're going to need leverage—there you go!” Bog tightened his hold and threw his scant weight to one side. The king obligingly leaned in that direction, pretending to have difficulty removing his attacker.

“This is assassination!” He declared, spinning around to shake off the prince, but holding on to his arms so he wouldn't. “This one's eager to take the throne!” The king sank down to his knees while Bog flickered his wings and gave squeaky growls and scratched at his father's armor with needle-like claws still too soft to do any real damage to the king's armor except for scoring some wispy-fine lines. Nevertheless the king collapsed dramatically onto the floor, black wings splaying out as he lay on top of Bog.

“Get off!” Bog demanded, shoving at his father's heavy shoulder, which was digging into his midsection and pinning him to the floor.

“Can't. I'm dead.”

“Daaad!”

“Take care of your mother for me.”

“Grrrr.”

“Have fun running the kingdom. Try not to start any wars.”

“Mmf.” Bog said, sinking needle-sharp teeth into the king's ear.

“Little viper!” The king growled, sitting up and clapping a hand over his injured ear. But Bog was freed and he darted into the air and onto the top of a cupboard. From there he grinned proudly at his own ingenuity while Griselda fussed over the king's ear.

“Nothing more than you deserve, for squishing your own heir. You'll live.” To Bog she said, “Sorry, it'll be a few years yet before you get to wear the crown. You have to get big enough to lift the scepter before you can think of usurping your dad.”

“I can so pick it up!” The prince cried with great indignation from on top of the cupboard.

“Without it dragging on the floor?” The king asked with a smirk.

Bog deflated, wings drooping and nubby armored shoulders hunching up. He looked sideways at the wall and whispered defiantly. “Almost.”

Booming laughter shook the room. The king reached up and ruffled his son's leafy head. “Get down and get dressed.”

“Yes, sir.” Bog sighed.

* * *

 

The little prince had never seen Autumn's sorcerer before. Now he stood on the steps of the throne, his cousins arranged in a row beside him, and saw the king bring out the globe of eerily blue spiderwebs. The throne room was always bathed in dim yellow light and to have this cool blue glow invade the space in which they stood made the room alien and unreal. There was a metal stand set by the throne and the king inserted the end of the stick that held the globe into it before sitting down. Griselda passed behind the row of young goblins and poked her finger into Bog's back, “Don't slouch, sweetie.” Bog straightened his shoulder and pretended he didn't hear Roderick snickering.

Aside from the children and their parents there were only a few council members present. The little ceremony was important, but routine. When the heir apparent reached a certain age—it varied exactly how old, but was marked by the ability to pass certain tests—all the noble children in line for the throne would be tested for magical ability. In recent generations the ability had waned and fewer children displayed signs of the gift and fewer still cultivated it. To be without the gift entirely would mean being barred from the line of succession, for one of the most important duties of the king was to maintain the enchantments of the amber network.

“You won't have any magic,” Roderick had said recently, “Everybody knows the sorcerer put a curse on you before you were born. That's why you're so useless, twig.” And Bog had head butted Roderick and they had fought until Griselda had broken it up. Not before Bog had a bloodied nose and Roderick had shallow claw marks slashed across his throat and scarring the front of his armor. Bog had been very worried about this test. What if Rod was right and he didn't have any magic? He wouldn't be a prince anymore, and would never be king. Would his parents throw him out into the forest to fend for himself? Roderick had said that's what happened to unworthy heirs. He supposed he could manage by himself, he knew how to hunt bugs for food, but it seemed an awfully lonely way to live.

Roderick's sisters went first. They were instructed to hold out their hand and when they did the king sliced his claw across their palm so a line of red appeared and blood welled up to pool in their hand. They pressed their hand to the spiderwebs and waited. Nothing happened except blood dripped onto the floor. One by one the girls came forward and nothing happened. No one spoke, no one indicated one way or another if this was good or bad. The girls huddled together and compared wounds, whispering heatedly about whose was deeper until Griselda flicked her finger forcefully against their foreheads and they fell silent. Young Lord Roderick sauntered up the steps, flashing a cocky smile at the king. The king's lips trembled, but he managed to stay serious.

Roderick pressed his hand against the globe and this time something happened. Blue sparks danced around the young goblin's hand and when he was allowed to pull his hand away the blood was gone, even if the wound remained. The king nodded approvingly. It was not a spectacular display, but adequate—if not slightly better than usual. Roderick smirked and skittered back down the steps, holding up his clean hand for everyone to see. Finally it was Bog's turn and he approached the throne when his father beckoned. He had his fingers tangled together and his shoulders hunched up, wings twitching. It was as if he couldn't decide whether he was trying to make himself looking bigger or smaller. Griselda saw his hesitating steps and gave him a push forward. The other children tittered. Bog squared his shoulders and marched up to his father and held out his hand, a determined expression on his small pale face.

A king needed to have the power to enchant the amber, to control the labyrinth network that protected Autumn. If Bog did not possess the potential to do that it would be over right now. Bog would be removed from the line of succession and Roderick would be heir presumptive again. Bog looked at the blood pooling in the palm of his hand, waiting until it threatened to drip onto the floor before he dared looked up, throwing an anxious glance up at his father. But the Laughing King was somber for the moment, face impassive.

Clenching his teeth, Bog raised his hand and smacked it against the blue globe, drops of blood spattering onto the floor. Instantly blue fire wrapped around his arm in shimmering strands, his eyes widening in surprise and sparkling with blue echoes. It didn't hurt, but it felt . . . strange. In fact, not even the cut on his hand hurt anymore. When the fire dissipated there was a long silence. Bog pulled back his hand and found the wound entirely gone, not even a scar to mark its place. Relief was rushing through him. He was qualified!

A voice finally broke the silence, “Well, it certainly isn't the most talent I've ever seen, but it's better than anything you gobs have managed to produce in generations. You could barely have lit a candle with the magic _you_ displayed, Giggling King.”

“Hsst.” The king grabbed the stick and gave it a shake. There was a shrill yelp but then silence. He was smiling broadly and if the setting had permitted he would have grabbed his son up in a hug. The serious little son of the Laughing King had passed the first and most important test, the only one that was ruled by the chance trick of heredity. Everything after this he knew his son would be more than capable of achieving.

Bog flew down the steps with his clean and healed hand held up, too excited to notice the councilors and Roderick's parents exchanging displeased looks with each other. “Look who's mommy's magical mushroom.” Griselda jarred her son out of his elation by grabbing him for a loud kiss. This sent his cousins into badly suppressed giggling and Bog wiggled free from his mother's embrace.

“Mom!”

“Gonna be the next Autumn King.” She grabbed his face and smooshed his cheeks.

Bog was caught in this nightmare until his father came down from the throne. “Now begins the shouting, Griselda. Ready?”

“Ready. You go and play. And if your cousins give you any trouble, remember--”

“Go for the eyes!” Bog said promptly.

“Good boy!”

* * *

 

Magic! He had magic! He could enchant the amber! He could be king after his father Bog flitted through the window and into the gloom of late afternoon, skinny legs swinging from knobbly knees as he wove through the mossy branches. There was no curse! He spun horizontally in the air, darting among leaves. There was no curse!

“Hey, twig!” Roderick caught up to him, propelled by larger, stronger wings. Bog had only been flying for a year and was no match for Roderick in a race. The other three cousins were close behind, eager to witness whatever drama their older brother had planned.

“Leave me alone, fuzzy!” Still heartened by the results of the ceremony Bog was bold enough to disregard his cousin's taunting. He flapped backwards, turning to try and keep track of Roderick's darting movements, trying not to give his cousin an opening to attack. “You're just jealous!”

“Better fuzzy than covered in weeds!” Roderick slipped around behind Bog, quicker than the younger goblin could follow, and grabbed his little cousin in crushing bear hug. Wings immobilized Bog could only kick and wiggle while Roderick ruffled his leafy hair, taking no care with his claws whatsoever. “Betcha think you're so great for lighting a few sparks, huh?”

“More than you!” Bog held onto Roderick's restraining arms, aware of if his cousin decided to drop him he might not have time to get his wings open before he hit a tree branch. It was a trick Roderick was fond of and one of the reasons why Bog was always bruised and Griselda worried.

“Yeah, that's the problem, isn't it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You've got _too much_ magic, twig. You're a sorcerer and sorcerers can't be kings. They get locked away in cobweb cages, alone forever.” The other cousins made approving noises at this conclusion. The ceremony had temporarily dampened their enthusiasm for teasing Bog because they main source of ammunition had been taken away. This new spin on things opened a whole new world of possibilities. “That's why _I'm_ gonna to be king, blue eyes, and _you_ are gonna be a sorcerer in a trap.”

“I am not!”

“You've got sorcerer's eyes!” Jeered the girls.

“I do not!”

“That's what they're talking about right now, you dad and my dad. Skinny, squeaky Boggart Skyeyes and his special eyes. They're wondering if they should put you in a cage now or wait until you grow up a bit. When I'm king I'll stick you in the basement where I can't hear you being stupid and squeaky.”

“You're a liar! You're all liars!” Bog kicked backwards, but he couldn't get enough leverage to do any damage. His claws scraped on Roderick's arms, tearing holes in the furry covering of the armor. Roderick just laughed.

“Go and listen for yourself, twig, they've left the window open.” Roderick released Bog, shoving him away so the prince had a chance to get his wings organized. The other children laughed at Bog's clumsy struggle to keep from falling, but he did succeed in staying up. Roderick was watching him, waiting to see if his words had struck a nerve, an anticipatory smile making his eyes gleam.

The four cousins all watched him, with their yellow and brown eyes, and Bog know if he flew back to the castle they would have won. They would know he wasn't sure, that he was scared that they might be right. But he _was_ scared. He had to know. Skinny little face drawing into a determined frown he shot a glare at his cousins before whipping around and making for the castle with all possible speed.

The sound of his cousins' laughter followed him through the forest.

* * *

The window was open and Bog clung to the rough bark of the wall, peering cautiously into the council chamber. He needn't have worried, the goblins inside were too wrapped up in their discussion to even think of sparing a glance at the window.

“Of course Bog will succeed me, he's in direct line and he's qualified.” The king said, speaking in a firm and matter-of-fact way.

The Laughing King sat in a a pose that was hardly king-like, comfortably slouched in his the chair at the head of the table, one leg drawn up so his knee rose into view and he could lay his arm across it and rest his chin there. The staff, the royal scepter, leaned on the chair and the king idly reached up to rock the head back and forth to distract himself when the talk got too dry.

“No one thought he would be qualified,” A council member objected, “Everyone has been expecting Roderick to inherit. Frankly, I agree. Roderick is much more suited to being heir. Smart, strong, fast, clever, popular and charismatic. He shouldn't be shunted aside after being heir presumptive for four years before the . . . other . . . was born. He has the support of the noble families.”

“I've no doubt of Roderick's virtues.” The king chuckled, “But Bog is my son and his claim trumps the rest. He's passed this test and he'll pass all the others. Arguing otherwise is a waste of our time.”

“Sire, you must consider the opinion of the noble families, who have all been rallying behind young Lord Roderick. You must consider that the young Prince Skyeyes does not have the same . . . _popularity_ with the nobles.”

“Oh, I _must_ consider?” The king smiled benignly

“The prince would be much more suited to a scholarly line of pursuit. Developing his magic in service to Autumn. His natural talent for magic is the strongest seen for some generations and it is worth cultivating. The duties of ruling would distract him from properly exploiting the potential of his talent.”

“My boy will learn to do as all the kings before him have done: enough to maintain the network and keep Autumn secure. More than that he can learn if he wishes, but he is to be a king, not a sorcerer.”

“Your insistence that the sorcererous brat inherit is absurd.” Roderick's mother was speaking now, her patience quite at an end. “He was unexpected and unwanted, disrupting the line of succession when everything had been settled. _You_ had agreed to the entire arrangement, that Roderick would be the next king.”

“Some things can't be anticipated.” The king said, cutting through the babble of bickering, smiling across the room at his wife. Griselda waved. After the death of the Laughing King's first wife he had been loathe to remarry and when Roderick had been born it was unanimously agreed that he be appointed heir presumptive. The Autumn King's sudden marriage to Griselda had come as a surprise to everyone—the Laughing King included—and the birth of Prince Boggart had disrupted the carefully laid plans and ambitions of the king's family.

“Yes, I agreed to the arrangement . . . in entirely different circumstances. We've got to compensate for change, otherwise we'd be running into walls, too stubborn to admit that the path has been blocked off.” He laughed at the idea of the self-important goblins ramming themselves head-first into walls.

There was some complicated discussion that Bog couldn't follow. Griselda apparently found it equally dull, for she left the room, blowing a kiss at her husband as she went. There were errands to run and people to tell the good news about her baby boy. The matter of succession was settled, as far as the king and his consort were concerned. Now it was just a matter of getting the council and nobles to admit it.

Toes and fingers dug tightly into the bark, Bog thought over what he had heard. Sorcerous brat. Unwanted. Until now Bog thought that some sort of curse had been put on him, that the possibility that he would have no magical ability is what made people dislike him. But now he had proved he could be king and the very proof was being turned on him as a weapon. Maybe there was still a curse, it was just the opposite of what he had thought it was. Now he knew it was too much magic that was the problem. Magic that had dyed his eyes blue, no doubt.

A voice cut through the growling and snarling din of politics, “We need a _ruler_ , not a prince who is a pale imitation of his father! A caricature of a high goblin!”

“He is _seven_.” The king laughed, “It's a bit soon to say how he'll turn out, don't you think? I imagine that he _may_ sprout up a bit in the years to come.”

“Eyes won't change. The child is more sorcerer than proper goblin.”

“Mm.” The king straightened up in his chair.

“With a strong connection to magic he'll have weakened loyalty to the kingdom. Everyone knows how flighty sorcerers are. Magical beings are simply not reliable.”

“Mm.” The king's eyes narrowed, his easy smile fixing into a brittle baring of fangs.

“The best idea,” The council member was still too absorbed in the sound of her own voice to pay attention to the king's body language. “The best idea would to be once again make Roderick the official heir to the throne of Autumn and bind Boggart to his service in a magical contract. It would keep him in check and prevent him from defying the wishes of the rightful king.”

The growl was so deep and low that it was lost in the noise of discussion. But one by one the goblins noticed the king's sudden tense silence and voices faltered and trailed away and the growl vibrated alone in the air. The lounging, chuckling goblin king had gone tense and sharp. He rose from his chair and took his staff in hand.

“ _You_.” The thick brogue rolled the word on the heels of the fading growl and the head of the staff swung around to point at the council member. Those that had been sitting near the speaker all scooted slightly away. “You think you can suggest such a thing about my son—the Autumn Heir! You think you can lay such a nasty little proposition on the table and walk away?”

The staff's end thumped on the floor, splinters crackling up from the force of the blow. All around the room goblins tensed, drawing themselves into defensive hunches, ready to flee or fight at a moment's notice. Even though they knew what was coming all those present still felt their blood chill when the Autumn King threw back his head and lived up to the title bestowed on him the day of his coronation: The Laughing King.

Laughter boomed and echoed throughout the council room, bouncing around the ceiling and reverberating off the walls until the whole room was filled with the Autumn King's displeased amusement. No one moved. There was no way to know how the king would proceed once he was finished laughing. Sometimes he sat right back down again and resumed discussion. Other times . . .

The king was in the air and across the table so quickly that if anyone had dared blink they might have missed it. The king's laugh was still humming in the air, lingering even when the king's face had pulled into a snarl and his eyes had lost their gleam of amusement. Crouched low on the table he contorted one clawed hand, sliding hard black talons against the council member's throat. She did not move, she stared into the king's eyes and refused to look away. This was a challenge of his authority and no one would interfere until one of the combatants looked away or attacked the other.

“You dare suggest that my son be bound and chained to the service of another like a sorcerer in a trap? He is the son of a king! _My son_! Still a child and you would do this to him?”

“All your shouting and laughter won't change the truth.” The council member said defiantly, “Goblins rule Autumn, not sorcerers.”

The dull gleam of amber flashed through the air and the royal scepter crashed against a thick goblin skull with a sharp crack of yielding bone. The council member tumbled from her chair and tried to right herself, but the king was already pressing his advantage and he pounced.

Bog didn't stay to watch. He sprang off the side of the castle and flew hard, fleeing from the growls and snarls of battle in the council room. The first crack of violence had broken the spell of stillness, signaling the beginning of a all out brawl.

His father had stopped laughing. His father had been _angry_. Roderick had been _right_.

Unnecessary.

Unwanted.

Sorcerous, blue-eyed brat.

* * *

 

“Welcome!” Trilled the strange giggling voice emitting from the sorcerer's trap. For once bound in solidarity by their apprehension over an unknown fate, Bog and Roderick exchanged nervous glances.

The ceremony had been a few days ago and the court had been restless. Bog had seen his father walk out of the council room with blood painting his claws and hands, the offending councilor being carried away by the guards to the doctor. She had been allowed to live for the moment and the council had come to an agreement with the king. Bog was still crown prince, but Roderick was officially recognized as second in line to the throne and would receive all the necessary training required to be king. The nobles were satisfied with this arrangement, for the present. A lot of things could change in the years leading up to Prince Skyeyes coming of age.

Now Bog and Roderick were officially meeting the sorcerer of Autumn, the one who would train them in the king's craft of enchanting amber.

The Autumn King plunged his claws into the webbing and pulled it apart. A flash of blue darted out into the open and Bog stared at the strange thing. He had no context for what he was seeing. The blue . . . thing . . . floated and shimmered in the air, all silver and blue and insubstantial. It had no wings, yet it was flying. Flying was not at all odd to Bog, but unaided flight? The thing looked like the pictures he had seen of fairies in the history books, with its round, unformed features, pointed ears, and thin fingered hands. But unlike fairies it had no wings or legs. Where legs ought to be it had a sort of tapering tail that undulated as it moved.

“Hee hee hee!” It giggled, zipping here and there in the room, the gazes of the two boys locked on her in baffled amazement. “I'm free, I'm free! Oh, wait! That's right, temporary expansion of the prison, so not really free, no. But I get to stretch my legs.” She swam through the air for a few moments before continuing, “Well, not really, but you get my drift.”

“This is Aura the Blue, Sorcerer of Autumn.” The king said while the sprite drifted around his head.

“Call me Sugar Plum!”

The king dropped his official tone. “You just made that one up! I knew you were just making names up and now I've caught you at it! Not once in all the years since I met you have you used that name.”

“Hey, I'm old! Maybe I forget stuff.” The sorcerer put her hands on her hips and tossed her head.

“Hah!” The king scoffed cheerfully, “Enough with your games, “Sugar Plum”, and get to work educating these young gobs.”

“Like I could refuse.” The sorcerer laughed. Then her face went blank and she looked at Bog and Roderick. “No, seriously, I can't refuse. Part of the binding contract thing.” She threw up her hands and was suddenly all smiles again, “Where should we start?” She flew up to Bog, her blue adding sickly color to his gray face. “Hm, Prince Aidan? Where should we start.”

“ _I_ was Prince Aidan, you daft fairy.” The king rolled his eyes, “This is my son, Prince Boggart the Autumn Heir, and his cousin Roderick.”

“Young Lord Roderick.” The fuzzy young goblin corrected. If Bog's title was going to be thrown around Roderick certainly wasn't going to stay quiet about his own. “What _are_ you? Do all fairies look like you?”

“Of course not, stupid,” Bog smirked, quick to seize an advantage against Roderick, “haven't you ever seen pictures? Fairies have wings and feet.”

“You must like fairies an awful lot since you know so much about them.” Rod sneered, “Why don't you go play with them instead of tagging along and bothering us all the time?”

“I do not!”

Two large hands descended and grasped each boy by the top of the head and turned them to face front. “If you lads wouldn't mind?” The king leaned down between them, “We'd like to get on with the lesson.”

“Yessir.”

“Yes, dad.”

“Thank you.” The king released them. But the moment he turned around Roderick flapped his wings and in a sing-song whisper said, “Faaaries!”

* * *

 

The miniature sorcerer bobbed around inside her prison, humming absently while smoothing the luminous strands of hair into her tiara. When the stairs creaked she flipped around and caught sight of a pair of blue eyes staring at her out of the dark, long nose poking around the doorway. The little prince crouched on the stairs, blending into the shadows except for those bright and curious eyes.

“Well?” She said after a minute or two of staring. “Did you want something? Speak up, speak up, I don't have all day! Haha, well, I do, but you get what I mean.”

“Did you curse me?

“Curse you?” The sorcerer swam a full circuit around the inside of her prison. “Why should I? Should I? Do you need cursing? Because if you want I totally could curse you with no end of different things. How do you feel about your ears falling off?”

“Um, no, thank you? I meant . . . my eyes . . .”

“You want _them_ to fall out? Oh, come over here where I can see you.” The prince crept over, wings jittering against his back. “Now, what _about_ your eyes?”

“Everybody says they're wrong.”

A flash of light blinded the prince and he fell over with a painful thump. “Ow!”

“They seem to work just fine.” Sparkles fell and vanished in the air as the brief magic faded and Sugar Plum giggled at the young goblin's undignified landing.

“No!” Bog rubbed his eyes, trying to get rid of the blue spangles that danced across his vision, “They _work_. They're just _wrong_.” He flitted up from the floor and bared his crooked little needle teeth at Sugar Plum, “ _Why_ are they wrong? Why did you make them wrong?”

A barrage of lights stung his eyes and he gave a high-pitched yelp, flying backwards and into a wall. “Listen, here, baby prince, you're snarling up the wrong tree, so take a step back or I'll enchant you to fall in love with a pine cone.”

“But they're wrong! Somebody had to make them wrong and you're the only one with magic!”

“There's nothing wrong with your eyes, kid, they're just eyes.”

“I've got too much magic.”

“You've got hardly _any_ magic. Certainly not enough to dye your eyes blue. Not that that's a thing, really. Fairies and Jotunn have blue eyes and they're not magic. Well, Jotunn are magic, but that has nothing to do with eye color.”

“Jotunn? From Winter? They have magic?” Bog was distracted by this new idea. There was a little magic in Autumn, carefully preserved for centuries. That other kingdoms might have their own secret enchantments had never occurred to him before.

“Yup! Autumn has amber, Winter has glamor. You know, like illusions?” The prince's face remained blank. The sorcerer whirled around and suddenly she looked like a gangly little goblin prince, only standing in a rather haughty attitude. Bog's eyes bugged out. She whirled again and returned to her usual appearance. “You probably got your eyes from the odd fairy and jotunn that's snuck into the family tree. Traits tend to pop up now and again. Did you know your great-great-great grandmother had butterfly wings?”

“What? Really?”

“Of course really! And somewhere you had an uncle with fur. Not just fuzzy like that other small person you were with today. The one who wouldn't pay attention! Rrr!” Sugar Plum grabbed her pointed ears and tugged on them. “I get like five conversations a year when there are no heirs to teach and that fuzzy horn-head can't even be bothered to _listen_.”

“How did a fairy and a goblin get married?” Bog asked, “I've never even seen a fairy, ever.”

“The forest isn't always closed off. Some kings open the borders and meet all sorts of people. It's been a long time since the last one, though.” A pause. “Are you actually listening to me, Aidan?”

“Um, yes? But my name is Bog.”

“Nobody made you come down here for boring lessons?”

“No.”

“And you want to hear about the last time the borders were opened?”

“Are there fairies and jotunn in the story? And fighting?”

“Yeah. Lots of all three.”

Bog nodded.

“Eeee!” The sorcerer bounced around the globe in her delight, tiny sparkling explosions flashing in her wake. She zipped back to where Bog was standing with his noise almost touching the trap. He had come down here in a cloud of gloom but a hesitant smile lit his face at the sprite's antics. “Okay, pull up a chair, kid, and I'll tell you all about King Bramble, Door Opener, Inviter of Danger, and the fateful day he decided to cross the border . . .”

Plum told him stories of the time before their land was hidden behind the thorns. When elves ruled Summer, when all the races traveled freely among the kingdoms. She told stories of when she was a fairy. When she was a goblin. When she was an elf. When she was a jotunn. One day she finally admitted she couldn't remember what she was before she was trapped. She'd spent centuries immersed in magic and her form is arbitrary and changed with the years.

“I'll never remember what I used to be.” She admitted to Bog one day. “But . . . I would like to find out what I _could_ be. If I were free. Suppose I tell you another story about the goblin queen and her fairy husband and in exchange you set me free?”

“You ask that every time.” Bog said. He was ten years old now and felt quite wise, catching on to Plum's tricks. “And you tell me the story anyway.”

He was sitting at a table in the sorcerer's laboratory going over notes from a council meeting, learning how they worked. Plum was at large in the room, busy concocting potions to help get rid of a termite infestation that was taking hold in the area. Bog came down here on occasion because no one else was allowed down here and no one could follow and bother him, expecting his father and mother, of course.

“Hmf.” The sorcerer snorted, snapping her fingers to summon a small horde of miniature duplicates of herself. “Off you go, Plumettes!” They zipped around, pulling bottles and boxes out of cupboards and lining them up on a table. “Bargaining is habit, I suppose. Not like anyone would ever set me free, I'm too useful. Still, it's nice to imagine. Fresh air. Sunshine. Doing what I want when I want. Nobody shaking the trap until I'm dizzy.”

“Roderick thinks he's funny.” Bog shrugged, scratching at the plates on his shoulders which had been growing in more fully lately.

“He certainly thinks he's _something_.”

“You never bargain with him.” Bog pointed out.

“He's not going to be king. Only the king could release me. And they never do. Some have promised to, but in the end I'm just too indispensable to give up. Rather flattering, in a eternally-bound-to-servitude sort of way.”

“He . . . _might_ be king.”

“Not if he never shows up for lessons. That kid's attention span is shorter than mine!”

* * *

 

“What if . . . what if there isn't any actual world outside?”

Bog was twelve years old and in the middle of a rapid growth spurt. He was growing so fast he ached all over and couldn't even practice sparring with his father. Griselda was fussing, as always, and had tucked her baby into bed with warm stones wrapped in leaves to ease his discomfort. In the middle of the night Bog had woken up. The stones had lost their warmth and he hurt so badly that he knew he would never get back to sleep. He decided to totter down to visit Sugar Plum and see if she could distract him from his discomfort with one of her outlandish stories. But as he limped down the steps he heard crying. Wild, hysterical sobbing inter-cut with prolonged wailing.

“What if . . . what if there isn't any actual world outside? What if it's all just . . . dreams?” Sugar Plum was darting around inside her cage and slamming herself against the yielding sides. “Why can't I just stop dreaming?” Sugar Plum started into one of her usual bubbly giggling fits, but there was a terrible note of desperation sawing at the edges of it all.

“Sugar Plum?” Bog asked. His voice had been cracking lately and the anxiety of the moment was making him croak.

“What if . . . what if I'm somebody else's dream? What if I'm a . . . a . . . insect starting with a B . . . what if I'm a _beetle_ dreaming I'm a fairy?” She waved a had and an illusion of a shiny black beetle skittered around inside her prison. It stood up on spindly little legs and bowled to Plum who bobbed a curtsy back. “How kind of you to visit! I know you have so much to do, with all your scuttling and clicking and . . . what else do beetles get up to?”

“Sugar Plum?” Bog was right up to the blue trap, watching her through the webbing, “Aura?”

“Now, pigeons, I know exactly what those flying rats get up to. Have you ever been chased by a pigeon? You probably have, you're a tasty beetle.” Now a pigeon appeared inside the globe and began pecking viciously at the black beetle. “But the real question is, do pigeons have feelings? No, settle down everyone, this is serious. Does it lower their self-esteem when I call them flying rats or do they just shrug it off?”

“Plum, are you okay?”

The illusions vanished like burst soap bubbles, sparkles dusting the air where they'd been. The sorcerer grabbed her ears and tugged hard on them while she let out a high-pitched scream. Bog flinched and flew backwards, automatically falling into a defensive crouch even though his legs complained at the sudden movement.

“Why, why, why?” Sugar Plum wailed, “Why do all your figments of my imagination keep interrupting me when I finally have somebody to _talk_ to?”

“I'm not a figment. It's me. Bog.”

“It's talking to me! Why can't it just leave me alone? No, no, no, not alone! Not alone! Please not alone! I've been down here so long, please just let me out! Let me out so I can see if it's real! Let me out! That thing is watching me! What does it want? It's not real, it's just a dream. Maybe it doesn't know it's a dream? Yoohoo! Hey there thing!” Sugar Plum waved at Bog cheerfully, “Yes, you with the leaves and the spikes! Did no one ever tell you that you're not actually a person? You're just a dream and somebody will put you into a a trap and keep you there so you can never wake up and disappear. They'll trap you, dream thing, trap you and use you—like me!”

Sugar Plum found this vastly entertaining and shrieked with laughter.

Bog ignored his aching limbs and flew up the stairs, flashing out into the hallway and colliding with his father.

“What are you--?” The king put his hands on Bog's shoulders and held him at arm's length. The boy was sprouting up like a weed. The thought of the council's pointed remarks about Bog being too small brought a smile to the Autumn King's face. Politics. They seized upon every conceivable reason to disinherit Bog but at every turn the boy proved them wrong.

Wings spread out in tense dark expanses, Bog pointed back down the stairs,“Dad, something's wrong with Plum! She's—she's gone crazy!”

“Oh, she's just having one of her odd days. She'll be back in working order in a day or two and we've got nothing urgent we need from her. You'll get to skip lessons for a few days.” The king dismissed Sugar Plum's antics with a wave of his hand. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“Couldn't sleep.” Bog shifted on his sore legs. He rubbed at the scaly plates of his arm, feeling the itch of growing and shifting armor. “Dad . . . would they really have put me in a prison like Sugar Plum?”

“Put you in a prison . . .?” It had been years since the suggestion of magically binding the young prince to the service of the kingdom had been raised. No one had dared bring it up again. It took a few moments for the Laughing King to recall the details of that particular political brawl. “How do you even know about that?”

“I . . . I listened at the window.” Bog couldn't suppressed a mischievous smirk from coming over his face. He knew too well what his father's reaction would be.

The Laughing King did not disappoint his son's expectations, breaking into a deep, rich laugh, a grin showing his sharp gray teeth. “I suppose it's been too many years to punish you, clever boy. As for binding you to service, I certainly wasn't going to let that happen. Your mother would have been so cross.”

“Seriously, dad, would they have done it?”

The king was not one to soothe his child with comforting lies. His son was asking so he answered, “They may have. Even if you stepped down they wouldn't trust you not to change your mind and take back the throne. That was some time ago. They're coming 'round to the idea of you.”

“Yeah?” The Autumn Heir's voice was nearly neutral, only the faintest note of wistfulness coming through. His face, however, spoke volumes, as he looked up at his father with hopeful eyes.

The king stooped so he and his son were eye-to-eye, “Yeah. They're starting to get properly fearful of you. That's what you want, their fear and respect. Them wanting to trap you? It just shows they're already frightened of your strength, that you won't be a king that can be controlled.”

How powerful was a sorcerer? The thought sprang into Bog's mind. An unleashed sorcerer had the power to pierce the veil and move between worlds and that was the most powerful magic ever known. Yet they were all trapped and at the mercy of their captors. Even if Bog grew as strong and powerful as the Laughing King would that be enough to keep his freedom?

_They'll trap you, dream thing, trap you and use you—like me!_

Sugar Plum had been in there so long she didn't remember who she was. Sometimes she looked at Bog and called him by his father's name, or grandfather's name. Tonight she had looked right through him, thought he was a dream. The council, the high goblins, they had wanted—probably still wanted—to do that to Bog. Hide him in the dark until he forgot the beautiful gloom of the forest, the faces of his parents, his own name. Is that all Autumn could do? Trap bits of power and horde them away in the dark, never daring to let the kingdoms know what they had? Hiding in the dark. Like cowards.

“I won't let them trap me.”

“Far be it from me to contradict you in a moment of resolution, Bog, but I'm about to trap you into going back to bed.”

“Make me!” Bog ducked under his father's arm and flapped down the corridor.

“Insurrection!” The king bellowed, diving after his son, “It won't just be growing that pains you when I'm through!” 

* * *

Bog sat on the steps below the throne, his father's staff across his lap. Since he was small, before he could even fly, he had been fascinated by the royal scepter. “You'll carry it someday.” The Laughing King had said, “When you're a wee bit taller.” And Bog had taken that as a challenge and took every opportunity to try and pick up the staff and prove he could do it, prove he could be king. Griselda knew what he was up to when she heard the scrape of metal on the floor, or the clang of the staff hitting the ground, accompanied by a yelp from her little boy.

Bog got older, he got bigger, and the staff came more easily to his hand with each passing year. By the time he was fourteen his father was letting him practice with it. “Get used to the weight of it.” His father plucked it from his hands to demonstrate a move like it weighed nothing at all. Every time Bog picked up the staff it was a little bit lighter, but he always handed it back to his father. It was not yet his.

Bog sat on the steps below the throne.

The empty throne.

Today the Laughing King had handed Bog the staff, one last time. Bog gripped it easily, knowing how to hold it for the most comfortable balance in his hands. The staff had never felt so heavy.

“Better get up in that chair.” Griselda remarked as she entered the throne room, crying causing her voice to be even rougher than usual, “They'll all be coming soon.”

The Autumn Heir—still only heir for a little longer—started at the sight of his mother. “Mom, what did you do?”

Griselda's long hair had been chopped off so it stood out short and straw-like from under her crown. Her horns, which she had been so proud of, were broken off to leave only uneven stumps over her ears. In her hand she carried a small package wrapped in leaves. “It's traditional.” Griselda explained. “They're going with your dad.”

“Oh.”

“So he's got a little piece of me with him.”

“Should I . . . put something in?”

“No, no, dear. You're the new king, you've got to look forward. You can't leave any part of yourself behind in a grave. You've got to look forward, all those plans you were making with your dad, to go talk to the fairies.”

It was all supposed to happen _later_. There was supposed to be _time_. The Laughing King should be in that throne while Bog sat on the steps and watched his father work. There were supposed to be years and years before he would sit in that throne himself. And that had been fine with him. Sitting on the steps below, near to the goal but not yet there. That had been comfortable. That had been right. There was supposed to be time to finally talk all the nobles around to the idea of Bog inheriting.

Even now they were citing Bog's youth as a disqualifying factor. Only fifteen. Roderick was nineteen. But The Laughing King had seen to things. Appointed Griselda as regent, handed the scepter of ruling directly to Bog in front of witnesses. There would be more shouting and arguing, but the battle had been won.

Bog would be king.

The Laughing King was dead. Long live the Boyking. 

* * *

 

“At least we know Skyeyes won't mess this part up.” One of the advisors muttered right before the renewal of the King's Spells. Bog had fumbled and tripped more than once during the coronation and the advisor's words caused a sudden blush to darken his pale face. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from snarling. Getting angry would only make him knock something over again.

The only thing he hadn't encountered problems with was the staff. His father had trained him well and the heavy length of it sat naturally in his hand and moved in accord with him. The staff, his father's staff, seemed to be the only anchor in this strange and hazy time.

Two hobgoblins ran up carrying the two sorcerer traps—one containing the sorcerer and the other empty, having been constructed by Bog the night before. The sorcerer's prison had to be renewed with each generation, the spells only lingering a few days past the end of the previous king's life. “I don't want to be carrying this.” One of the hobgoblins whimpered quietly. Bog relieved him of his burden and the fishy yellow goblin scampered off with a relieved and lopsided smile. Bog almost smiled himself, at the hobgoblins antics. His father would have laughed.

“How're my new digs looking, Baby King?” Sugar Plum asked Bog, “Because if you want my opinion I'd definitely add a second bath and maybe a balcony. Balconies are very functional, great place to grow a few flowers and easy air access, you know?”

“Quiet.” Bog growled.

“Oh, _that's_ how it's going to be!” Plum sniffed and started to fuss with her hair.

A spark of blue lit the claw of Bog's thumb and he drew the tip of it down the side of the trap, the cobwebs parting without resistance. They withered, the blue glow fading to leave only dusty gray strands that wisped lightly to the floor to dance in the stale movement of air caused by the watching crowd. At this part of the transference the king had to hold the sorcerer with active magic until he could put her into the new vessel. Bog had practiced doing that, forming a misty blue bubble in his hand and sliding it into the new trap. With active concentration Bog would be able to hold Sugar Plum independently of the webs for several minutes at least.

“Better be quick, Baby King,” Chided Sugar Plum as the last strands of the old prison fell away and no containing spell had formed in the Autumn King's hand, “If you don't catch me right off I may get away.”

“That's the idea.”

Bog stepped away and Plum hovered in the air, unbound by any spell or prison.

The new Autumn King drew a deep breath in through his nose, trying not to let his anxiety showed. He had planned this all, rehearsed every word he was going to say until the lines echoed in his dreams at night. Forget the crowd, forget all the watchful eyes of people who wanted to see him fall. Be brave. Be seen. Be heard.

* * *

 

The staff fell to the floor, slipping off the side of the bed where Bog had tried to lean it. Sticky red smudges dotted the post of the bed when he grasped it in one shaking hand.

_“Fool! Sorcerer King! Are you cunning or are you an imbecile?”_

The shouts of rage echoed clearly in his thoughts, printed bright and black so that everything else was obscured.

“You have to set the tone of your rule from the very first moment,” The Laughing King had told him, “Don't play around and pander to that mewling lot. You'll please no one. Start as you intend to continue. The moment the crown was set on my head I laughed—loud and long, I was fairly well pleased!”

Freedom.

Change.

Those were the ideas Bog had been determined to instill. To open the borders, to be free to roam the world as they pleased. To be the most fearless Autumn King, daring to step into the light and been seen. Freeing Aura had been the ideal way to set the tone, he had thought. Rid them of their dependency on the pitiable creature, kept around only in case she might be needed. Bog had been taught all he needed to know of magic, what else there was to know was recorded in the library. Someday Bog could teach his children. There was no need for the sorcerer.

And this was the only moment he could do it.

If he had put Sugar Plum back into a cage he might never have let her go. The same insecure need to keep her close, just in case, might overtake him as it had overtaken a dozen kings of Autumn before him. He could not begin his rule by being responsible for tormenting the fairy one instant longer. He had made a promise, never uttered out loud, but he had made a promise that he would free her.

_“_ _Get her back! Get her back!”_

The Boyking pressed his fist into his pounding forehead, but the scent of blood turned his stomach. Councilors, advisors, officials, nobles . . . all of them had swarmed the dais, enraged at the Boyking's misstep. The scepter had been ripped from his hand in the press of bodies and he fought with teeth and claws. And if the fight continued he might have won, for they underestimated the strength and skill of the Boyking, but the crowd came to their senses as the guards began to converge. When they realized without the Boyking there would be no one to enchant the amber, no one to guard the borders. Roderick had long ago abandoned his training and now there was no one to teach him how to wield his magic.

The newly crowned Autumn King stood alone on the dais, clutching his retrieved staff like a shield in front of him, red vivid against his dull colored fingers and face. Blood was still pounding in his ears, lips curled back from crimson stained fangs, wings flared out behind him in a great gray shadow.

And the tone of his reign was set. A boyking too strong, too invaluable to destroy, but too worthless to respect. Blood had marked his coronation and blood would stain his rule.

* * *

 

_Present Day_

  
“You must look like your father.” The Summer Heir remarked at one point in their conversation.

Sometimes, confined as he was to the Autumn Court, he forgot that there were obvious things that the Summer Heir might not know. That there ever be any doubt that Bog looked nearly identical to his father . . . it was laughable. The older he had gotten the more insistent the whispers. “Caricature of his father.” “Pitiful imitation.” Sometimes when he encountered a stray mirror he caught a glimpse of his father. Aside from the difference in eye color and height there was very little to differentiate them now, save the way that the lines of Bog's face drew long and painful as compared to the laugh lines that creased his father's features.

Bog suppressed a sigh over the thought. For the longest time he had sought to set himself apart. He covered the pattern of his armor—virtually identical to his father—with uncomfortable waistcoats, striven to speak without the rich brogue inherited from the Laughing King. He regretted that now, for even when he stopped trying to suppress it he found his accent much fainter than it had been as a child.

Bog looked up at Marianne where she sat on the railing in one of the libraries upper levels, feet dangling just above the Autumn King's head. It was . . . different, talking to someone without the preconceptions usually associated with him. In his brief summary of his history with the high goblin nobles she had been understanding but irritated.

“That's why the snobs don't like you? You released the sorcerer?”

The Autumn King shrugged, armor plates rustling. “They never liked me. This just gave them another reason to.”

“Letting the sorcerer go, has it weakened the defenses of the kingdom?” The Summer Heir asked with shrewd insight.

“The nobles think so. But the inconveniences have been minor. They think I let Sugar Plum go to make myself more important. That I thought they wouldn't risk killing me and losing my magic. That's why they attempted to control me with . . . with the potion.”

Marianne repressed a badly timed yawn and squinted at the text in front of her. There had been nothing at first brush that looked important in the laboratory so the Autumn King had set hobgoblins to sorting out the rest of it, assuring them that he had checked and dismantled any further magical traps. Back in the library they were busily multitasking. The king was beginning to organize an investigation of the interference in the network and the missing messenger. Making sure that the Summer Guard did not advance into Autumn, and skimming through texts looking for anything about love potions. And amongst all of that he was trying to convince Marianne to return home in the morning.

When she yawned and rubbed her tired eyes he said, “Things would go more smoothly in an investigation if your army wasn't knocking on my front door. I know you aren't involved in the attack and that I can trust you. You should go home.”

Making a rumbling noise in the back of her throat—which sounded strangely goblin-like the king thought—the Summer heir laid down her book. “If we can just get this sorted tonight . . . if I can just _fix_ this.”

“Summer Heir . . . Marianne . . .”

“If Roland has the power to organize a force to enter Autumn and attack your supply wagons then I'm not sure that my father has any control over the Summer Guard anymore. Even if I take everyone home I'm not sure . . . I'm not sure it will help. He's already cut off communication with Summer, he must have intercepted your scout. What's to say he won't intercept _us_ if you take me home?”

“The messenger had a passkey. I have the master key.” He indicated the staff where it leaned against the wall where Marianne's sword was hanging. “Even the dagger skeleton key won't be able to override that.”

“Even so. If I'm still here Roland will hold back. He won't risk killing three Summer children in a fight, especially if he thinks saving me will gain him an advantage.” No doubt he would think the scenario of rescuing her from the clutches of the goblin king terribly romantic and sure to sway her feelings towards him back to the positive. The thought made her throat seize up. Then she yawned so hard that her wings fluttered.

“You need sleep, tough girl.” Bog remarked.

“Never mind that.” Marianne couldn't tell if the room was cold or she was too tired to feel warm. After ruining the sleeves of her outer tunic to wipe blood of her face she was wearing the sleeveless red tunic that had been on underneath. While she was escaping and fighting it had been warm enough, but the chill of fatigue was biting into her now.

“You released the sorcerer—where did she go?”

“I don't know.” The king's fingers moved uneasily over the cover of the book he was holding. He remembered how the sorcerer had stayed there, frozen in the air like a fly in the web of a spider. Centuries of imprisonment over in a moment and without warning. She hadn't known what to do. “No doubt she did not want me changing my mind and coming after her.”

“What about Roderick? I would have thought he'd be with the opposition. Isn't he their figurehead?”

You're relentless.” The king complained.

“You've only just noticed?” Lysander remarked upon entering the room, “Marianne, you need to sleep.” The Autumn King growled something under his breath. Sand raised his eyebrows at his sister.

“He's been saying the same thing.” Marianne explained.

“Then at least one of you is showing some sense.” Sand suppressed a smile when the king and Marianne both rolled their eyes. “Are eight hours going to make such a big difference? Is any of this,” He waved his hand at their piles of notes and research, “doing any good?

“Stab me in the _heart_ , Sand.” Marianne threw her pen at him. It hit his chest but he caught it before it fell. “I'm gathering information.”

“Prying.” The king muttered.

“I need to know the big picture. You were about to tell me about Roderick.”

“It's complicated.” The king sighed, defeated.

Sand shook his head. “I'll get you coffee.

 

* * *

_Three Months after the Closing of the Autumn Border_

 

“Hey, boyking.”

A sliver of headache stabbed behind his eye and the Autumn King thought, not for the first time, that the moment he turned eighteen and was technically no longer a “boyking”, he would make a law against ever using the title again. Sparing countless future generations the pain of cousins like Roderick.

“Kind of let myself in, hope you don't mind. But if you do mind . . . whatever. Had to come in through the . . . back way.”

It was late in the evening, the sun had gone down hours before, but the king had only just finished with audiences for the day. There had been a sudden upswing in territory disputes and he had spent all day being shouted at and shouting at people. Now he sat on the steps below the throne, trying to make sense of a pile of land deeds that had been presented to him as evidence. Someone was infringing on territory not their own, using forged maps and deeds to justify their claims. It was a tangled paper trail that he needed to unpick by the morning and he did not appreciate the interruption. He _never_ appreciated his cousin's presence in any context.

“Have you stolen your father's passkey again?” The king asked, not bothering to look up from his work.

“Couldn't get my hand on it.” Roderick thumped down a couple steps above his cousin, splattering everything around him with water and mud. The king snatched his papers back with a snarl of disgust, too late to save the already tattered parchment from being dotted with watermarks.

“What have you been doing _now_?” The king finally tore himself away from his paperwork and irritation long enough to notice the state Roderick was in. Dirty bandages were wrapped around the stump of the young lord's left arm, splotches of rusty dried blood mixed with the fresh scarlet of new and dull splatters of mud. Not only was Roderick soaked with mud, neck ruff plastered down against his carapace, but the edges of his wings were sodden, frayed and snagged, his armor battered and scarred as if from scrambling over rocks and through thorn bushes. “I thought you'd stay out of trouble for at least a few more months.”

“Lovely to see your cheerful face, too, blue eyes. And I hardly walked for three days for the sake of my health. Speaking of, I could use a stiff drink. A whole barrel-full of drinks stiff enough to stand up on their own, no mug necessary.” The king really couldn't argue with that. He sent a hobgoblin to get Roderick a drink and a doctor. “Aw, you do care, old stick in the mud.”

“I'd rather not deal with your father if you end up killing yourself.”

“Heh. You have no idea how much simpler your life would be if I was out of the picture.”

“I have an inkling.”

“I'm actually serious. Aren't you going to ask why I'm here?”

“Not to arm wrestle, I'm certain.”

“I'm here—wait, was that a _joke_? Seventeen years old and you're _finally_ growing a sense of humor! I am so proud.” He slapped the king on the back approvingly. The king hunched and sneered, wings twitching at the cold mud. “Now, about why I'm here. You know how I'm next in line for the throne unless you have kids? Which we know isn't going to happen anytime soon, what with your current stance on all things romantic.”

An absent-minded growl was the king's only response to that remark. He had launched an investigation into the whole love potion affair, even though he would have rather forgotten about the whole thing. Elvira had given the names of her conspirators in exchange for leniency and otherwise it hadn't been hard to flush out the guilty parties. Everyone who had risen in the king's favor during that time was suspect. And while the king had made no official announcements he had abolished any discussion of efforts toward finding him a suitable queen and ordered the primroses uprooted and burned. Gossip filled in the blanks. “The king's ban on love.” They called it.

A thought drifted lazily through the back of his mind, that all this nonsense was the sort of thing he would tell the Summer Heir about and that she would have appreciated the frustrations of politics and court gossip. He bit back the thought, bringing to the forefront his mind a reminder of the fairy princess's recent betrayal. She had never been his friend.

“Is this an assassination attempt, then?” the king wearily shuffled through his papers, discarded them, and leaned his head on one hand. “Go ahead. Maybe if I were dead I'd get some peace.”

“You are a huge downer. You know that, right? This is why nobody likes you.”

“Nobody has to like me!” The king threw up his hands and stood, turning on his cousin with teeth bared, “They just need to leave me _alone_ so I can get some work done! Go away.”

The king stalked away, favoring one leg. Roderick saw that the crack in the armor over The Autumn King's ribs, held together with metal staples so it could heal back together. In fact, there seemed to be a lot of new scars decorating the Autumn King's person. In the few months since the loss of his arm Roderick had been out of touch with what was going on with the kingdom, but he was just starting to realize how much.

“Have they already sent assassins?”

The Autumn King's wings gave the faintest shudder and he took a breath to compose himself. A moment of consideration was given to Roderick's exact words and the king turned back around to ask, “ _Already_?”

Roderick got to his feet, cradling the stump of his right arm against his chest and wincing at the painful stiffness that was setting in even after only a few moments of sitting still. “It's why I'm here. Overheard a few interesting things back at home and thought you might be interested. Just a trifle or two, you understand, like the little conspiracy to kill you and replace you with a more cooperative monarch. Seems they had a pretty good crack at you already.”

“Hm.” The king ran his finger over the staples in his side. “What do you care if they try to kill me? You're next in line; with me dead you'll inherit.”

“Are you kidding? You think I _want_ your job?”

“Don't you?”

“Hah! Endless dull paperwork and people nagging at you all day? Worrying about the borders, the food supplies, territorial disputes . . . Not to mention it turned you into a sour old man and will probably kill you as well! In case you haven't noticed, I like fun, Bog, and being stuck on the throne as my family's puppet is not my idea of a good time.”

“But you've . . . you've always . . .”

“What? Said I'd be king? That was just stupid kid stuff to get you riled up.”

“But why would you come to warn me? You hate me. You could have gone anywhere.”

“Hey, cousin, you may be the most dreary pile of leaves I've ever had the misfortune to meet, but you do have your moments. You make a decent sort of king. And my intentions are nearly purely selfish. I figure that the safest place to be is here so I can make sure nobody kills you and sticks the crown on my head. Once this mess is sorted out then I can buzz off and get on with my life and you can get back to paperwork, everybody's happy. Except you, because you're never happy. Now, here's what I was thinking: you grant me asylum in exchange for the information I've got.”

“Granted.”

“Not even going to wait and see if my info is good? Not even going to shake on it?” Roderick lifted the stump of his right arm, a tired grin on his face.”

* * *

 

Within the month there was war. Roderick was disowned for his perceived betrayal. The hobgoblins rallied to the king, the high goblins against. And for many months Autumn was on fire. They battled over the labyrinth, the Amber Door, struggling to keep control of it. But the sorcererous king could manipulate the forest to his will, use the amber like the nobles couldn't. They didn't even had Roderick anymore, and they were slowly losing. The king led his troops into battle and victory. Terrible victory. No one could continue to doubt the king's physical strength and skill in battle.

* * *

“The war has been dying out. Resources are getting scarcer and the loss of life too high. There has been talk of declaring a truce and sorting out the rest of this peacefully. As peacefully as a room of goblins wrangling over politics can be, anyway.”

The Summer Heir winced. “Then Summer attacked and stole the shipment of amber and the opposition is using it against you?”

“It could not have been more badly timed.” The Autumn King agreed.

“And you had to act . . . decisively?”

Now the king winced. “If I didn't make a move against Summer I might have lost half my supporters.” He laced his fingers together, examining the black nails of his hand rather than look up at the Summer Heir. “If it's any consolation, it was partially successful. The hobgoblins, trolls, and brutes have settled down.”

“I'm so pleased.” The Summer Heir snorted.

“You're never pleased.” Sand had come in with a tray.

“Do you only come in here to snip at me?” Marianne demanded, fluttering down from her perch. “How's Dawn?”

“Still asleep. Adeline took the other bed so she won't be alone, but Roderick is staying outside so Dawn won't see him if she wakes up.”

“I still need to talk to him about why Dawn's so frightened of him.” Marianne remarked darkly.

“Put it on your ever-expanding to-do list.” Sand said, shoving a mug into Marianne's hand.

Marianne stared at the innocuous mug with undue intensity. It was a simple clay mug, glazed green with the symbol of Autumn embossed on one side. Her gaze shifted to the pot and the threads of steam rising from the spout and around the lid. Next on her tour of the tray was the bowl of sugar. Yes, there had also been sugar on the tea tray earlier

“Bog . . .” She said slowly, wondering if her fatigue hazed eyes were missing something important.

“Hm?” The king was leaning his forehead on his fist to prop up his head while he went over the latest messages from the scouts.

“Why is there coffee?”

“Because ye asked for it.”

“No, I mean . . . more generally.”

Bog looked up, blinking, searching his mind to figure out what bit of information the Summer Heir was fishing for now. “It's not poisoned, you know. It's there because there's a mess to unravel and no time for sleeping.”

“Coffee is a product of Summer.” Marianne said slowly, “So is sugar. And the borders have been closed for two years. Why is there coffee?”

“Oh. Um.”

“Two options, as far as I see: you've been raiding the farms or you've been trading with the elves. Since no one has reported any raids, that only leaves the second option. Have you been trading with the elves this _entire time_? After all that drama with closing the borders and locking everyone out? And you just open it back up again so you can get your sweets?”

“Hold on, princess,” The Autumn King held up his hands as if to slow her down. He wished she would slow down, he was so tired he had trouble keeping up. “ _You_ try demolishing a major import without destabilizing the economy! We renegotiated trade with the elves six months after we closed the borders, and not just for coffee. In the middle of a war the advantage lies in being able to hold out longer than the enemy and that requires food and supplies.”

“Wait, if you've been trading with the elves this whole time . . . but they're not reporting it. Not being taxed. What are you doing with all that money?”

“That's filed under “Not my problem”.” Bog retorted, “Seeing as few things aren't my problem is a blessed relief to have one that I can wash my hands of. Worry about elves later and drink your coffee.”

* * *

A steaming mug of coffee was pushed into Sunny's line of sight.

He was sitting in Pare and Lizzy's kitchen, trying to sort out his thoughts. Sunny remembered Lizzy, a bit. She had come down to the fringe villages for the festivities leading up to the Summer Ball, right before the border closed. Everyone had been talking about her, and the goblins in general. Now he had finally met her, but not in the most desirable of circumstances.

 _Married to Pare_? Sunny was wondering, his spinning thoughts making room for this new strangeness to join in their rotations. _When did this happen_? Sunny's family was friends with Pare's so it seemed the sort of thing that would be mentioned. For the fact that there had been a wedding at all, and especially because Pare had married a _goblin_. That was . . . unexpected.

Lizzy had taken the dagger and bottle of perfume, picking them off the floor from among the other junk that had arrived with Sunny. She had honed in on them specifically, disregarding the rest. The dagger she flipped over to examine the hilt and her lips pursed over her pointed teeth. The perfume she sniffed gingerly. She gave a great sneeze and the little girl giggled.

The items were set down on the table. “What happened?”

“Eeeh,” Sunny sighed out, sounding something like a distressed tea kettle. “I really wish I knew. There was a cupboard in the ball and the king was in the dark . . . no, wait, I mean, we were at the ball and then in a cupboard . . .”

They listened to Sunny's garbled explanation with the utmost patience and a parental air. After he finished they asked a few questions and then began to talked quietly to each other. Sunny stared at the coffee. How could he get back to Dawn? He had left her all alone with the Autumn King! How had the king even been there? Had that horrible dark room been in Autumn all along? How had they even gotten there from the playroom?

“Come on, Sunny,” Lizzy stood up, flicking her tail off the chair, “Pare's going to stay with the kids while I take you to see Joss.”

“Joss? Who's Joss? Is she with the Summer Guard?”

“No, but she might know what to do. Good night.” Lizzy dropped a kiss on Pare's cheek and he smiled warmly in response. “Don't let Ellie stay up too late, we've got an early day tomorrow. And no snacks, you two, I have the cookies counted!”

“Awww,” Ellie said from under the table where she had been playing with a toy knight made out of leaves. But when her mom was leaving she popped out and waved vigorously. “Bye!”

“Um,” Sunny said as they walked down the street. There were lanterns lighting the main paths and everything was still and peaceful. A far cry from where Sunny had been not even an hour before. The disparity made everything oddly dreamlike and he was having trouble keeping his thoughts straight. “Um, Lizzy? Can I call you Lizzy? 'Cause that's what Pare called you, but I don't know if that's a nickname or if I should call you ma'am or something . . .”

“Lizzy is just fine, Sunny.”

“Yeah, okay, Lizzy. Lizzy?”

“Yes?” The goblin replied, the corners of of scaly face tugging upwards in a smile.

“Have you heard anything about what happened at the ball? Because Marianne was fighting the Autumn King and then I saw the king back . . . wherever we were . . . and he wasn't dead. And I can't imagine him not being dead if Marianne had won, so I was wondering . . . did she lose?” Sunny's throat was dry and the final question cracked uncertainly in the air.

“The Summer Heir was taken hostage. _Alive_. The king won't harm a hostage, they're too valuable, so don't worry. Word came earlier this evening and the Summer Guard passed by on the way to the border. They also told us Princess Dawn and Prince Lysander had been taken, too.”

“I don't suppose anyone noticed _I_ was gone.” Sunny said weakly. Three of them. The goblins had gotten nearly all the Summer children. They had been his friends—his _family—_ for so many years and now they were being taken away. Why couldn't have Dawn or Sand fallen through the cupboard into safety? Why was he free?

The village was quiet but the town hall was lit up and bustling. Sleepy elves were trotting up the steps, some of them carrying notes but most of them carrying snacks. If there was work to be done in the middle of the night at least no one would have to do it on an empty stomach. Inside the building there were at least a dozen different—but equally loud—discussions going on and one elf was managing to be participating in all of them at once. Middle-aged with a head of frizzy black curls partially contained under a blue kerchief, she was standing in the middle of the room and shouting at everyone. And everyone was listening to her.

“It's a good offer!” She was saying emphatically, “And he can make good on the promises he's making, he's got the pull! We all agreed that we want a peaceful and non-violent resolution if at all possible and this is a golden opportunity!”

“Doing more dirty work for fairies?”

“Striking a bargain, an exchange of services.” She countered, “And securing a powerful friend—oh, Lizzy! I thought you'd gone home for the night.”

“Tried to!” Lizzy said cheerfully, “But we've had the most strange development. Joss, this is Sunny. Sunny was at the palace tonight but he fell through a cupboard door and into our kitchen. Carrying this.” She held up the dagger.

Joss came to attention. “That's . . .?”

Lizzy nodded.

“Let's talk in private.”

The most private space available was the storeroom where festival decorations were stored. Sunny found himself sitting on a stack of disassemble tables while Joss made him repeat his story. Then she made him repeated it again. Halfway through the second recitation he exploded, “I told you this already! I told you everything! Lizzy said you could help, but I don't even know who you are. He's got Dawn! And Sand, and Marianne! I've got to go tell the Summer Guard, if they're near the border . . .”

“And tell them what? That you were stuck in a pitch-black room all night?”

“And fell through a cupboard and into a kitchen! That might be a little important! Maybe there's some way to get back and get everybody out of there. I don't know, but I've got to do something!”

“Tell me about the dagger. You got it from a Summer Guard?”

“No, Iona did, and then Dawn had it. But, yeah, she got it from one of the guards. Why?”

“Amber in the hilt, got you into the network, but definitely not an Autumn weapon . . . this could be important.”

“Wait, wait, wait, network?” Sunny held up his hands, “Amber? _What_ are you talking about? And more importantly, how does this help any of my friends!”

“Sunny, I need you to calm down. The Summer Guard is at the border. Come morning and the rain stops they'll burn their way through and get the heirs back.” Lizzy coughed but didn't interrupt Joss, “There is nothing you can do that isn't already being done. However, what you've brought us may help us with other matters. This dagger is connected to some powerful Autumn magic, which the Summer Guard might find useful. And this potion,” She held up the bottle, “Lizzy tells me it's a love potion.”

“Primroses. That's the only magic they're ever used for. The Autumn King banned them not so long ago and he would probably appreciate having this returned so he can destroy it.”

“What? You think he'd swap for the love potion? Give it to me, I'll take it there right now!”

“No! Nothing is ever that simple.” Joss held the bottle away. “This is just another small piece of leverage. This might be enough to finally get this revolution off the ground.”

Several things clicked in Sunny's head all at once. There were always some elves talking about the upcoming revolution, planning to overthrow the fairies and reclaim Summer. This was all just the sort of talk that happened after a long day in the fields and you were on your third or fourth mug of the local specialty, none of it was taken seriously. In the past year, however, there had been an upsurge in the revolutionary mumblings, rumors of someone finally tracing the royal family tree down to a present day descendant, right heir to the throne of Summer. Sunny's parents had written all about it. But they hadn't written in awhile. Hadn't told him about Pare and Lizzy, or who this Joss was, but . . . months back they had mentioned a Jocelyn who was going around claiming to be rightful queen of Summer.

“Oh, oh, no!” Sunny stood up and waved his hands, “I do not need to get involved in this revolution garbage—especially not right now! I'm a page! At the palace! My best friend is a _princess_ and she's in trouble right now and I have to help her. If I can. And I do not, absolute do _not_ , need to get caught up in this drama! I'll take that! And that!” He snatched up the bottle and put it into his pocket and stuck the dagger through the strap of his overalls.

“Wait!”

Joss caught up to Sunny at the door, but he pulled away when she grabbed his arm. Running out into the dark he glanced around to orient himself. In light of the full moon the forest of Autumn was clearly visible as a black shadow on the horizon. He began to run for it.

“Captain, stop him!” Joss shouted from the doorway.

Captain? Sunny wondered. The gentle breeze of wings caught up to him and a hand covered in cold metal armor seized his shoulder. A familiar voice drawled lazily into the night, “Now, where are you off to, elf? And where did you get that fine dagger?”

Green armor shone in the moonlight. Sunny's heart sank.

Joss came running up, “Oh, good, you caught him. Thank you, Captain Roland.”

“Anything to help a lady!”

* * *

The blaze of light cut through the fog that kept coming between Marianne's eyes and the page she was looking at. The king's staff had lit up and he seized it. “It's gotten worse. Something is getting in!”

“Into where?” Marianne demanded, jarred from her cloud of fuzzy exhaustion.

“The network! The Amber Door! It's like someone's taken a battlin' ram to it!”

“Where are you going?”

“To find out what it is!”

Marianne jammed her feet into her boots and snatched her sword off the wall. “Sand, go and stay with Dawn!” She smacked a hurried kiss on her brother's cheek before she pushed him toward the door. He didn't question her order, just said, “Stay safe, Mari.” before flying into the hall.

“I'm coming with you, Autumn King.” Her fingers caught his wrist and she felt him flinch against the touch before he pulled away entirely.

“You should--” The look she shot at him cut him off. For a second he hesitated, but then he let out a breath, “I've no time to authorize you, so hang on, alright?” He held out his hand.

“Hang on to what?”

“I . . . I'm going to bypass the established doors and open a portal in the throne room without a frame. Then the doors can't be sabotaged. You can't follow me through without being caught by the security measures.”

“Like when I . . .?” The memory of thorns catching her wings and limbs made her skin prickle. When she had run headlong after the Autumn King into the portal he opened in the palace gardens and the thorn branches had seized her, held her fast.

“Yes.” The king looked away. That was not a night he liked to think about. It was another thing he had not yet apologized to her for. Her hand held out to him, asking him to listen—why hadn't he listened? “To get you through I'll need to . . . “ He held out his hand again.

She put her fingers in his. “Let's go.”

“Um.” The Autumn King's gray cheeks were lighting up with pink now, he pulled her forward so that she stood in front of him and he put his arm around her waist. “Otherwise you'll get caught--”

“Yes, I see.” Marianne replied, too quickly.

“Um, right.” He took off into the air, lifting her with no trouble at all, his staff held out in front of him. He went up but long before they reached the ceiling of the library it had faded away into darkness and the dry air was replaced with the damp smell of Autumn. The amber lit their way and revealed that thorny branches were writhing out of their path, amassing into a solid black tunnel around them. There was more than one wall of thorns protecting Autumn, it seemed. The thorns moved away from the king's flickering wings, but one branch snatched at Marianne's trailing elbow. The king turned in the air, rotating Marianne away from the grasping thorns, and slashed the wayward branch in a flash of golden light.

Marianne dully appreciated the warmth of Bog's armor, cutting through the chill that had settled so deeply into her. She wasn't used to being cold, she was a Summer fairy who thrived on sunlight. The arm around her waist was solid and reassuring, a stark contrast to how tired and insubstantial she had started to feel. In other circumstances she would have been uncomfortable and embarrassed, but right now she was too tired and worried to bother. Anyway, floating through the thorns in the glow of the amber, it all felt too dreamlike to be taken seriously.

The light shifted again, growing brighter, and the cool damp air became warmer and she saw the spiked lanterns of the throne room come into view. As the king descended he released Marianne and she dropped the few remaining feet and landed with a firm tap of her boots, wings still folded behind her, hand on the hilt of her sword.

In a heartbeat her eyes assessed the room, noting that Roderick was just appearing behind them, spear in hand. A horde of goblins was seething around the corners of the room, having responded to the alarm. The background was filled with a ragged harmony of growling and barks as the goblins shifted uneasily, sensing something was amiss and waiting for the anomaly to reveal itself so they could deal with it.

The growling grew louder. Or rather, nearer. The Autumn King and Roderick were slouched into sharp, predatory poses, rumbling building their chests. They had caught a scent and identified the threat, recognized it. Marianne had to wait a few moments more, for the intruders to walk out from behind the throne.

“Ah, there you are, darlin'!” Fairy armor shone too brightly in Marianne's eyes after a long night of dealing with the inhabitants of Autumn. Bright green armor and yellow-gold hair was like an assault on her eyes after the cool earthy colors of Autumn. The drawling voice made her skin crawl. She drew her sword and looked over the blade at Captain Roland of the Summer Guard as he walked over to the throne.

“What kind of throne is _this_?” Roland said, disgusted, before sitting down in the chair of bone. The goblins surged forward and the king's growling intensified. But Roland had not come alone. A handful of fairy soldiers arranged themselves around the throne, crossbows in hand. The Autumn King raised a hand and the goblins fell back. Roderick tried to keep coming, but Bog shoved him back with a hiss. “Later.” Roderick was breathing hard and ready to attack, but he looked away from Bog's glare and backed down.

“Get off the throne.”

The Autumn King stepped away from the line of goblins, standing alone with crossbows aimed at him. Marianne knew that a crossbow bolt could punch a hole right through fairy armor so no doubt it could pierce a goblin's natural shell with little difficulty. Be careful, she thought, be careful because Roland is coward enough to panic and order the men to fire.

“Now, now, we're just here to talk.” Roland waved his hands, his gestures, as always, deliberately theatrical.

“Get off!” The king lunged forward a few steps and all the fairies recoiled at the sight of the enraged king and his bristling armor. Roland sprang off the throne with undignified speed, but he quickly settled his wings back down and assumed a pose of nonchalance.

“I suppose you know I'm here to take the Summer heirs home.” He flashed a smile at Marianne, ignoring her dark expression and drawn sword. “Return them and you can get back to . . . skulking. Or whatever it is that goblins do.”

“I suppose I'll just forget about the goblins that you and your soldiers killed?” The king's sarcastic smile was an impressive display of dry humor and jagged teeth, “Not bother to question how you bypassed the Amber Door?” The staff slammed into the floor and the crossbowmen flinched again. Marianne was starting to worry about nervous trigger fingers. “Think _again_!”

“You know perfectly well, _captain_ ,” The Summer Heir walked up to stand beside the Autumn King. He glanced at her but raised no objection, “That though I did not come to Autumn of my own choice I have taken this opportunity to open discussions with our allies in Autumn. Or did you not bother to read the letter after you intercepted the message I sent to my father, the Summer King?”

“Written under duress, no doubt.” Roland waved a hand and gazed off into the distance, weaving a story that sounded more pleasing to him than reality did, “Perhaps even under . . . magical influence?” He turned to look at Marianne, smugness exuding from every feature of his face. From a pouch on his belt he had drawn out a small rosy bottle which almost looked as if it were glowing faintly in the gloom.

The Autumn King tensed. It was the love potion. He recognized Sugar Plum's bottle, one of her particular patterns. The jar was stoppered but somehow the king was sure he could smell the sickening scent of primroses pervading the throne room.

“I think,” Drawled the fairy captain, “That the Summer Heir has been bewitched by the goblins of Autumn. Stolen, tricked, and drugged so she'll do as their king wishes. I'm afraid you're not yourself, darlin', and we really can't take your word on anything just now.”

“If you've been selling those lies to my father I will cut out your lying tongue and make you eat it!” Marianne snarled, cutting in before the Autumn King could form his own rage into anything other than a growl. “You think you can discredit me so easily?”

“See, poor sweet thing,” Roland tipped his head, “You're just not behaving like your usual self in the slightest. All that ugly anger. You've been angry a long time, acting . . . _differently_ a long time now. Just about two years, actually. Ever since the night I found _you_ ,” He pointed an armored hand with a cold click of metal, “In the palace garden with _him_.” He swung his finger around and jabbed it at the Autumn King, a grimace of distaste marring his straight-edged features. “One might almost think that such a sudden change in our beloved princess, occurring right after an encounter with . . .” He waved his hand, searching for a word, “ _. . . that_ . . . it might mean that something had happened.” He swirled the contents of the little bottle meaningfully.

The tension among the goblins was getting intense and all around fangs were flashing in snarls and the growling was a constant counterpoint to the conversation. Marianne rather wished she could growl, too. At this moment it would have expressed her feelings of anger and frustration _perfectly_. The story Roland was weaving was nearly believable, answering questions long puzzled over, slotting into the gaps left by secrets. It was as insidious as the love potion, wiggling in through chinks in armor, allying itself to reality where it could to make the tale more binding.

The worst thing was that he had the potion. That was evidence against Autumn, proof that they had the means to control the Summer Heir. The fact that Roland had the potion also meant that he must have gotten it from Sunny. A note of panic mixed with the anger singing in her head, cooling the fire that burned through the fingers she had gripping the hilt of her blade. Where was Sunny? Where was the hobgoblin messenger? What had Roland done with them?

“Bog,” She said through her teeth, taking a step toward the throne, “You won't have to worry about putting Roland on trial for his crimes against Autumn because I am going to to gut him and watch him bleed out.”

Glancing at the crossbows Bog held out a hand in front of the Summer Heir to halt her progress, stopping just short of touching her shoulder. “Don't go getting yourself killed, tough girl.” The king flew forward, stopping just shy of the steps, but hovering far enough above the ground that he was looking down on the fairy captain. “What is it that you want?”

“For the moment?” Roland flashed his perfect white teeth in a charming smile, “I've just been buying a little time to get the pieces organized.”

As if on cue several new figures emerged from behind the throne. There were more Summer guards, but also goblins. High goblins, and two of three of them had a distinct resemblance to Bog and Roderick. Marianne's eyes were drawn to the pale blue and yellow shape being dragged out into the open. Dawn's limp and sleepy form was being held up by a goblin almost as tall as Bog, but three times as thick. This time it was Thang who stopped Marianne from rushing forward, jumping up to catch her belt. He looked up at her with his wide and fishy face, shaking his head. He was right. Marianne stood down and gave the hobgoblin's head a reassuring pat. Dawn was blinking around, obviously not quite sure what was going on. Sand nodded at Marianne to let her know they were both alright.

It was something out of a nightmare. The goblins and the fairies mingling on the dais, dragging first Dawn into view, then Lysander, and finally Adeline. Only a quick gesture from the Autumn King got the goblins moving fast enough to grab Roderick and keep him from charging the assembled forces. “Addy! Addy! Are you alright? Where's Gwill? What have they done with Gwill? Get off of me, I'm going to rip his face off!” Hobgoblins were flung across the room as Roderick tossed them off, but Brutus laid a massive hand on the young lord's shoulder and held him fast.

“Quite a lot of rescuing we've had to do.” Roland swept his eyes over their captives. “An unexpected find, though.” He ran a finger down Adeline's cheek and under her chin, pushing her face up so she had to look at him. Even from across the room Marianne could see Adeline was shaking and on the verge of tears. What had Roland done that Adeline was so frightened of him?

“Take your hands off of her.” The Autumn King ordered, still hovering high enough that Roland had to crane his head to see properly, “She's under my protection and is counted as a subject of Autumn. You have no right to hold her or the Summer heirs. And _you_ ,” The king swung his staff at the goblins, “What are _you_ doing with _him_?”

“Desperate times, cousin.” A goblin with fur-covered armor just like Roderick's shrugged her shoulders and glared up at the king. “You've proved particularly hard to pry off the throne.”

“Mother, I am _so_ disappointed in you!” Roderick bellowed over the crowd. A grin briefly lit up his face, “Thought I would get that in before you did.” Roderick's mother frowned but did not respond to her son's jab.

“Conspiracy.” The Autumn King rumbled, setting down halfway up the steps to the throne, ignoring the increasingly nervous fairy soldiers aiming shaky crossbows at him as he stood there, all sharp edges. “Again. You would make a contract with _him_? The one who cut off your son's arm to steal a ring? Burned the thorns and killed goblins so he could get more amber? You've given him access to the Amber Door? You scream and rant at me for endangering Autumn's precious secret and you hand it to this _leech_.”

“What are you hoping for here, mother?” Roderick called, “Bog's the only one left who can repair the amber network! I certainly never learned how and there is no way I'm learning _now_! You kill him and Autumn really _will_ come to ruin, you idiotic old gob!”

“Your ploy to keep yourself in power by making yourself intrinsic to the continued safety of our kingdom,” Roderick's mother said, “has worked rather well for you. But we've found a way around the dilemma, you see. There is no longer any need to keep you and your skills alive, Boyking, no longer any need to be ruled by a a pathetic creature more magic than goblin.”

“Do enlighten me, _cousin_.”

“Gladly, Boyking. Enjoy your title while you can, it won't be yours much longer.”

“If you don't give me a good reason not to kill you your _head_ won't be yours much longer. My troops are restless, cousin.”

Another goblin came around from behind the throne. Roderick groaned, “Aw, not you _too_ , sis!” The new goblin was holding a long piece of twisted metal that curved into the shape of a question mark. At the hook of the metal was attached a white-blue sphere, fused to the spikes of the hook by hard white frost. Marianne had seen snow and ice a handful of times, otherwise she would never have known what the glittering crystalline sphere was made of: ice.

The Autumn King had never seen snow but right now he did not care so much what the globe was made of, but what it contained.

“Hello, Laughing King!” A familiar voice tinkled. “Why so gloomy?”

The Autumn King only just barely managed to breathe out a single word, the horror and dismay coming over him were trying to close his throat:

“ _Aura_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the words of Sugar Plum: That took forever! Sorry this chapter has been so long delayed.
> 
> First of all, thank you to everyone who prompted me and made suggestions for this chapter!
> 
> Second, sorry that this is such a horrible cliff-hanger, but the chapter is already up to 17k words and this was the best place to cut off.
> 
> Too tired to blather on here, so I'll just say that if anything was unclear or you just want to talk about it, please hit me up in the comments!


	19. Chapter 18: Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback to Roderick first meeting Adeline and Gwill
> 
> Bog and Marianne try and sort out their feelings

_A Meeting_

_Seven months after the closing of the border_

 

If the wind had been blowing from the other direction Roderick would have never noticed the heavy smell of blood in the air. The copper scent tickled his nose, bringing him out of the thoughtless reverie he had fallen into while he picked his way along the mass of interweaving thorn branches that walled Autumn off from the rest of the world.

Winter was in prominence now so the branches were dry and yellowed on the Autumn side, but already green and leafing on Summer's side. The mushrooms were lined up not far from where Roderick was strolling, but they took no notice of him since he was carrying a passkey, an amber ring. Not his father's ring, either. Roderick had finally managed to bully the boyking into giving him his own passkey. It had been hard to get his hands on any decent piece of amber until then, seeing as he no longer had access to his father's.

Hand, singular, Roderick corrected himself, scratching at the scab where his elbow used to be. He'd nearly died from the injury and in typical goblin fashion had pushed himself too hard too soon. Two months after the original injury he had collapsed from overexertion and three months after that he had been laid low by a serious infection in the stump of his right arm. It was just recently he'd been getting out and about again and even so his arm wasn't healing properly, carapace trying to seal the gap but it always grew too weak, cracking and shedding off again.

Until the accursed thing healed he couldn't rig up any sort of prosthesis which might help him hold a weapon properly again. His weapon of choice had been a spear and it wasn't a weapon that could be wielded one handed very effectively. And the loss of his arm had completely thrown off his balance, making fighting and flying very difficult indeed. So he was forced to trudge unsteadily across the floor of the forest, walled in by the border of thorns.

Roderick rolled his eyes at the thought of his contemptible cousin giving way to pressure and sealing the border. Not that it had helped, really, since a civil war had erupted sometime during Roderick's illness. Silly business, but it rubbed him the wrong way that he couldn't at least enjoy the fuss and fighting. His family had all sided against the king but Roderick had disagreed. His cousin might be a dour old stick but he wasn't exactly terrible at the kinging business. If Roderick had stayed they might have tried to use him as a figurehead, a king candidate, and the thought made him shudder.

A pile of letters from his mother was heaped up on the desk in his rooms. He had opened the first handful that arrived, but quickly lost patience with the endless scolding and abuse scrawled across the paper. If he had to read one more word from his mother about him being ungrateful he might just go home and make her eat the bitter missives. Especially the one that accused him of cowardice.

That hardly seemed fair. Yes, he had climbed out the window of his room in the middle of the night and run off, but it wasn't like that had been an easy choice. He'd been chased through Autumn for three days, still weak from the loss of his arm, and had to swim through the bog to the castle, then crawl through a drain to get inside without an amber passkey. Honestly, that seemed more ingenuous and determined than anything like cowardly. Many times during the long chase he had thought with longing of how easy it would be to just give himself up, be carried home and put back into bed with every effort made to see him comfortable and well.

Roderick had gambled it all for a chance at getting out of Autumn and seeing what the other kingdoms had to offer. And he'd lost. That dour kid with the disposition of a grumpy old man had locked the entire kingdom up tight. At lease he'd spoiled his mother's plans of using her own son as a figurehead. That wouldn't have suited Roderick at all, and it didn't really seem fair to Bog, either. The kid was a wet blanket, but he was earnest about doing right by his kingdom and his people.

For the moment Roderick comforted himself with the idea of breeching the border once he was well and disappearing into the great unknown that lay outside. Yes, once he could carry a spear and fly again he'd shake the bog water and moss of this kingdom from his feet and go find some fun.

Though something fun—or at least interesting—might be closer than expected, Roderick mused, following the scent of blood.

Roderick had deliberately steered his wanderings to where the roads of Summer came closest to the border. While this had the disadvantage of being in the same general area as when he was ambushed and hacked up by some panicking fairy guard, it did have the advantage of sometimes allowing him a glimpse of travelers. Mostly elves, going to a fro with their loads of goods, but sometimes fairies or even nobility from other kingdoms, traveling in grand style.

Now Roderick used the ring to thin the thorns enough so he could peer through without being seen—knowing perfectly well he shouldn't be doing anything of the kind. A flash of emerald green darted through the yellow grass stalks that had grown up on either side of the road and Roderick's brown eyes followed it. It was a fairy, on foot. With the smell of blood thick in the air he wondered if she was unable to fly or just afraid to reveal her location. He shifted his peep hole, following her progress until she came right up against the branches and began to climb right into them.

From here he could see the blood that stained the front of the fairy's tunic, and her long silky yellow hair sticking in the knife wounds cut into her shoulder. The bundle she clasped so desperately to herself smelled distinctly of a baby that needed changing. Roderick was only a few steps away from the fairy as she slipped among the thorns, tilting his head and watching her progress with interest.

“Come back! Please come back!”

Roderick had been so focused on the movements of the fairy that he had not looked for or heard her pursuer. When he called after her Roderick's wings twitched and he automatically hunched forward in a defensive position. He straightened up again when he heard the fairy cry out. She had been startled too and fallen right into the thorns, pinning herself in place. What would a fairy had to run from in her own kingdom that was scary enough to have her flee into Autumn?

Curiosity was one of Roderick's main motivations for doing anything. So if anyone had bothered to ask him why he thrust his hand through the thorns and pull the fairy free he would have shrugged and said, “I wanted to find out what was going on.”

Freed from the thorns, the fairy collapsed against Roderick and he had to put his arm around her to keep her from falling right into the ground. A bundle wrapped in leaves was clutched in her folded arms and blood stained her clothing. Some of it was from the thorns, but most of it was from several deep punctures along her collarbone and on her chest. She looked up at him, dazed and frightened, but when she heard the sound of footsteps on the other side of the border she went still.

“Wow, whatever you're running from must be pretty frightening,” Roderick remarked, impressed. He usually expected—and hoped—for more of a dramatic reaction to his sudden appearance. Even if he was short an arm he hoped he maintained a look of ferocity that would make a soft little fairy from Summer recoil in horror.

“Adeline! Adeline, come back!”

The fairy tensed when she heard the voice and she struggled to free herself from Roderick's grasp and he found himself at the mercy of a frenzy of golden hair and green wings beating at him in a panicked tempo. “I've got to—I can't let him find us!”

“Steady on, you made it to the other side. Whoa, whoa, whoa!” He could barely hold on to the panicked fairy, “You're safe! He'll certainly hear you if you keep that up.”

She went silent.

He glanced up, looking through his peephole in the thorns, and a growl rose in his throat. He could see what had been chasing the fairy girl and he recognized it. The glint of ridiculously polished green armor and the shine of the sun on even more ridiculous yellow hair—though that was marred by a fresh and nasty looking wound just at his hairline. The Summer guard. The Summer guard who had ambushed him and deprived him of his arm.

With a twitch of his fingers Roderick returned the thorns to their proper density, sealing sight and sound of the enemy fairy out entirely. The sound of the armored fool charging through the grass vanished and there was only the quiet rustling of Autumn to be heard.

Running into that particular fairy was not something Roderick had anticipated. Certainly he had entertained a number of daydreams about seeking the pond scum out once his stump had healed. The detailed and graphic images of his possible revenge kept Roderick sustained through many a painful day of his long recovery. Then the rotten little butterfly had the nerve to show up when Roderick was neither expecting it or prepared to avenge himself. Absolutely inconsiderate.

Still, the idiot looked like he had gotten a good knock on the head. That might shift the odds back in Roderick's favor, even if he was unarmed in more than one sense of the word. It just might be worth the risk.

A whimper made him look down at the fairy he had just pulled across the border and the smell of blood hit him all over again. The rapid heartbeat of the terrified fairy pounded against his armor and blood was fresh on the fine layer of velvety fuzz that covered him

Roderick scowled at the blank wall of thorns. He supposed it would be too humiliating if he challenged the fairy guard now and lost to him again, this time without the excuse of drunkenness. If he survived the reckless stunt he would never live it down. Yes, it was probably safer to leave the whole business alone until a more opportune time.

And he supposed he'd better do something about the fairy he seemed to have now acquired.

“Well, your handsome suitor can't get through this tangle,” Roderick nodded at the thorns, “You're—hey!”

The fairy shoved hard at Roderick and he lost his grip on her, his hand slippery with her blood. The fairy began to fall, the bundle of baby and rose petals slipping from her grasp.

Roderick reflexively tried to grab both the fairy and her baby, putting out a hand to catch the bundle, a hand he did not have. His left arm snagged the fairy around the waist and kept her from tumbling, while the stump of his right flapped uselessly.

But a weight suddenly balanced him. A weight an balance gone the better part of a year, a weight that shouldn't be there, but was. A hand, ghostly blue and see-through, easily caught the tiny fairy baby. The thing was easily cradled in the palm of his hand, the darker blue of his claws just showing over the infant's head.

“Quick, quick, take him, I don't know--” Roderick gasped, the phantom hand flickering as he felt overwhelming pain from a limb he no longer even really had. He felt his armor cracking open, the muscles sliced apart, bits of bone chipped away until there was a rush of pain and numbness and horrible lightness.

The fairy snatched her baby and they both dropped to the ground, Roderick releasing her so he could grab at the stump of his arm, trying to stop bleeding that wasn't happening. The ghost of his arm had vanished the moment the baby was taken away. All that was left was pain.

He regretted passing up on the opportunity of giving some of that pain back to the arrogant fairy wandering aimlessly somewhere on the other side of the thorns.

“Sometimes I think I ought to have a hand, and so I do,” Roderick remarked to the fairy gapping at him, “Hurts like anything and doesn't last long. Sure is impressive, though, isn't it?”

He flashed her a grin.

She just stared at him.

“Hm. Tough crowd. Is the grub okay? If I were him I'd be howling my head off.”

The fairy clutched the baby closer, suspicion coming into her eyes.

“Don't mind me, I'm harmless. Well,” He tilted his head to one side, “not _harmless_. But for the purposes of the moment I don't plan to eat you or the grub.”

He flicked the baby's nose with a claw and the fairy child scrunched up its face like it was about to sneeze, but did not open its eyes. Its mother drew the baby closer, angling it away from Roderick.

“This is going to get boring very quickly if I'm the only one talking. Not that I'm not dead interesting, but a little audience participation goes a long way to round things out.”

Without making a noise the fairy slumped over onto her side, managing to cushion the baby and curl herself around it, her arms going limp.

“Oh. Blood. Blood loss. Right.”

Painfully, Roderick shifted himself closer, looking down at the fairy's shockingly white face. If she'd past out from blood loss she probably didn't have much time. Not with how tiny she was and how much blood was splashed around on her, the scenery, and him. Maybe he should dump her back on the other side of the border for the fairies to find. Or outside the elf village, that wasn't too far away. Somebody would take the fairy grub and look after it.

Roderick gave the baby a poke, curious as to why it still hadn't cried or even woken up. In his experience just shutting a door too sharply would wake a baby. It could be supposed that it was different with fairies. Maybe fairies were just born with sweeter, milder dispositions than goblins.

The poor little thing stank of wet diaper.

Roderick sniffed. Something else, too. Something familiar. It was a soporific drug with a sickly sweet smell to it. Even now it made Roderick want to vomit. Over the course of his recovery he had been drugged with it and its like again and again while doctors sawed the jagged edges off his ruined arm and trimmed away the dying flesh. Then he had been drugged to keep him quiet at night, to keep his noises of pain and complaint silenced.

“Someone drugged you, little caterpillar. Drenched you in the stuff, from the smell of it. I'm no expert but it seems to me that wasn't something to give a little pup like you.”

For a few seconds he considered the baby's squishy face. It was such a soft, boneless looking thing. Its head was round and bare except for fine wisps of hair. Goblin babies usually came into the world with a little more character and a a few more teeth to their credit. This squashy grub was the most vulnerable looking thing Roderick had ever seen.

In a weird way it was kind of cute.

Not that he cared about what happened to it or its mother.

It was just kind of cute, that was all.

The mother, too, sort of. The baby was squishy but the mother looked as brittle as glass and likely to shatter if handled too roughly. It made Roderick wonder how fairies had survived as a species, being so many different kinds of fragile.

It would probably be a bad idea to let a fairy die on the border.

Gripping the fairy woman's uninjured shoulder he gave her a shake, “I need you awake, just for a minute. C'mon, do us both a favor!”

Dull eyes opened to look at him, all the terror chased out of them by exhaustion.

“Good. I can help you if you let me. You want my help? All I need is a nod.”

The movement was weak, but the fairy inclined her head forward, her eyes already slipping closed again.

“This will hurt me more than it'll hurt you,” Roderick muttered, watching sparks of blue light dance over his fingers, “But why should I start taking care of myself when I've been so brilliantly negligent up until now?”

 

* * *

“Hey, cousin?”

The Autumn King rumbled deep in his chest but did not otherwise acknowledge Roderick's presence. Shifting through a shelf of books he pulled out one volume after another and discarded them onto the floor.

“Hey, your royal highness? Hello? Your luminescence? Your majestic spikiness? You listening? I've been standing here for like ten minutes and I'm pretty sure you haven't even noticed there's anyone in the room.”

The king grabbed a book, looked pleased, flipped through it and seemed disappointed. He threw the book against the wall and the binding broke, sending a storm of paper across the already cluttered floor. “I heard you swagger in, Roderick,” The king said, pouncing on another book and skimming through it. “I just don't have time to deal with whatever trouble you've stirred up.”

“It's a bit important. Honest.”

“I need the thrice-blasted maps of . . .” The king turned to a shelf by Roderick and he finally looked directly at his cousin. He took in the sight of his cousin and a battered looking fairy woman. She was covered with blood but her wounds had been bandaged. She held a baby wrapped in rose petals like she was afraid someone would snatch it out of her arms. “Roderick, have you . . . have you kidnapped somebody?”

“You only take offense at the idea because kidnapping is your royal prerogative. No, I didn't steal her. I found her. Can I keep her?”

* * *

“Why?” The Autumn King had asked, flabbergasted.

“Why?” Roderick's old playmates had asked when they'd dropped by to see if he wanted to get into trouble with them and found his new guests in residence.

“Why?” Roderick's mother wrote when she heard of the fairy refugee, “Why would you disgrace us all . . .”

“Why?” Members of the court speculated with each other over the young Lord Roderick's eccentric behavior.

“Why not?” Roderick would say to anyone who asked, “I think they're kind of cute.”

And Roderick cleared the heaps of barbed messages from his mother and family, emptying the study he never used so it could be fitted for his fairy guests. A fairy woman whose name he did not know because she would not speak, not to him or anyone. Once or twice she whimpered in her sleep and promised some nightmare that she “would not tell anyone, would never tell anyone, just please, _please_ . . .”

* * *

_Present Day_

Hard white strands composed Aura's new prison, a mist of chill breathing off them in the stuffy warmth of the throne room. The cage might as well have been wrapped around the Autumn King, for he could feel the cold presence of it all around him, drawing closer with each breath he took. Winter magic. They had trapped Aura with Winter magic. That meant that the Winter Queen had thrown in her lot with the rebellion and stood against the Boyking. The alliance the Laughing King forged had been broken by his son.

Just a few brief years ago he had stood in front of the throne and released the sorcerer from her long confinement. It had been meant to make a statement, a promise. In granting Aura her freedom he was granting his kingdom a chance to come out of hiding. He had not anticipated how desperately some of his subjects would cling to their self-imposed solitude, how they would take his gesture as a threat to the stability of Autumn. That they would react to it as an attack on their power.

Now Aura was trapped again. The one thing he had accomplished . . . undone. Every attempt he made was thwarted, every step forward he took and he was pushed back. He couldn't even maintain the existing balance, the high goblins had long since turned against him and forged a complex network of alliances amongst themselves. The only thing they could all agree on was that the Boyking must be got rid of.

Cold thorns seemed to wind around his legs, slipping between the plates of his armor and sinking into the soft flesh beneath. He was the keeper of the amber door. All of Autumn was open to him if he wished. All of the four kingdoms. Nothing was beyond his reach. Yet when he tried to open a door between kingdoms he was powerless. Trapped. He tried to break the pattern of centuries. Had the arrogance to think it was within his power to change what had always been.

A firm touch on his upper arm made him glance sharply to the side. The Summer Heir stood next to him, one hand on her blade, the other on his arm. Her eyes were on the hostages, her fingernails scratching across his armor were the only sign of her apprehension. Otherwise she looked like a fury barely contained, fire forced back under the ash, glowing sparks of it burning in her eyes.

“What now?” She asked.

His eyes had already been stinging from weariness, from the warmth of the crowded room, but he was fairly sure that they were stinging now, and his stomach giving a sudden dip, because the princess was standing next to him. Trusting him. After everything he had done to destroy the bond of friendship between them. Once again he had failed in what he had set out to do, but in this one instance he was so very grateful for failure.

“Now,” The blonde fairy soldier drawled with disgusting smugness. The sound of his voice made the princess bristle and the king shift himself so she was half behind him again. “Now you hand over the master key, _boyking_.”

The Autumn King's grip tightened over the staff and he curved forward, ready to spring the moment anyone so much as took a threatening breath in his direction. The goblins massed behind him murmured and growled, hackling at the suggestion of their king surrendering his scepter.

“The devil he will!” Roderick roared, “by what right--!”

“Winter stands with us,” Roderick's mother cut in. Bog looked at the goblin, seeing a resemblance to his father in her face. Aidan and his cousin Spruce . . . they had once been the closest of friends. “They have made their gesture of good will to our cause by helping us recover the power that you so recklessly abandoned, boy. We have the sorcerer, we have the young royals of Summer, we have the backing of Winter, and you? You have no choice. Surrender and you will retain these few lives and a little of your dignity. Oppose us and everything will be ripped from you and you will know only pain and humiliation before you are publicly executed.”

A terrible giggle tried to force its way out of Bog's throat.

Everything he had ever tried to accomplished had all come to nothing. Every single hope he had held for himself and his kingdom was dead, frozen by the shell of ice that held Aura prisoner and put an end to Bog's belief that he had at least accomplished some small deed of worth.

In the years since taking the throne Bog had comforted himself with the thought that if nothing else he had set Aura free. The wrong of generations made right by him. The Boyking did was no other king before him could do and he had cast off the crutch of the enslaved sorcerer. He had been braver, kinder, than all the kings and queens that had come before him. The memory of this one success had sustain him through the pain of the many failures that followed. It kept him strong through the scorn of his people, the war that tore apart his kingdom, even though the terrible loss of his friendship with Summer.

“Lay down your staff, boyking,” Spruce ordered, taking the sorcerer's trap from her daughter, “You have lost. Your ploy has failed and we are no longer at the mercy of your . . . skills.”

Bog brought the staff up in front of himself like a shield, eyes roving over the assembly on the dais, automatically noting their numbers, weapons, and positions. His thoughts were in chaos and the dreadful urge to laugh would not leave him. There was something darkly funny at how completely he had failed. Even Winter had abandoned him.

There was no official alliance between Autumn and Winter, but they had long been bound together in magic, knowledge, and bloodlines. The Laughing King's first wife had been a Jotun princess of Winter. There had been little interaction between the kingdoms since the death of Aidan, and Bog had struck the deathblow of their unofficial friendship when he snatched away the young Winter Prince. Bog had thought this transgression had earned him their indifference, not their anger, that he could at least count of them to stay out of it. That the queen mother would see that they were left alone, for the sake of her love for her son-in-law, Aidan.

Once again, Bog had misjudged.

“Don't,” Roderick growled from the edge of the crowd, still being held back, “Don't you dare give them _anything_! Hey!”

Marianne shook her stinging hand, Roderick wincing over the blow she had struck to his side, “Shut up. If Winter is against us he might not have a choice! And your self-centered antics do anything to endanger my family I will relieve you of your other arm!”

Her mind was reeling from the sight of Winter magic and the implications of its presence here. This could mean not only was Winter siding against the rightful ruler of Autumn, but against Summer as well. Had the Winter Queen decided that Summer and Autumn were both responsible for the border incident? For the kidnapping? Had they decided that it was better to forge alliances with Roland and the Autumn rebels?

Roland had a love potion! He had the perfect story woven around it, far more palatable to the Summer court than the truth. Poor, sweet Princess Marianne, ensnared by the wicked enchantments of Autumn, her mind twisted to their will.

Dawn stirred weakly in the grip of her captor, blinking through her haze, a look of fear beginning to creep across her face. Marianne watched her eyes search the room and light on Bog where he stood on the steps to the throne. Dawn's fear disappeared when her face lit up in lovestruck delight at the sight of the object of her affection. She tried to give him a flirtatious little wave.

A thought struck Marianne so suddenly that she almost staggered under the blow. Looking from Dawn, helplessly enchanted, to the bottle in Roland's hand, Marianne realized the natural continuation of his plan. It wouldn't be enough to simply tell a story of the Summer Heir being enchanted, not unless he could break the enchantment. Or, appear to break it.

He was going to use the love potion on her.

Roland was going to enslave her, take her back to Summer, and marry her in a story book ending that would delight the whole kingdom. Her father would be pleased to have his daughter happy and back to her old self. Summer would fall into Roland's hands.

Marianne looked at Adeline, pale and trembling in the hold of a fairy guard. Adeline, Roland's lawful wife. If she was found to be alive it would throw all of Roland's plans into disarray. The simplest solution to this problem was obvious. No one outside of Autumn knew she was alive. No one would know the difference if she died. A slight pang of guilt over hitting Roderick pained Marianne for a moment. Roderick had it figured out. He knew that if things proceeded according to Roland and the rebelling goblins' plan then Adeline would not survive to see sunrise.

The metal of his staff was growing slick in Bog's hands. He was clutching it too tight, as if Spruce would come down from the dais and try to rip it out of his hands. She wouldn't, of course. The master key had to be given up willingly and the authority officially passed over. If they killed him outright then authority would go to Roderick.

“The heart of Summer stands against you, boyking,” Spruce said, “As does that of Autumn. Winter lends its aid to our cause. There is nothing left for you to cling to. Nothing but the shreds of loyalty from the rabble.”

She gestured at the crowd of goblins shifting restlessly behind their king. At her words their growling pitched louder and bared teeth caught the dim light of the throne room. Bog gestured from them to stand down. They did, with great reluctance, claws dragging across the floor.

“Will the Summer family be returned home? If I do this will you restore them to their kingdom unharmed?”

“Naturally--” Spruce began with a regal nod, a smirk curling up the corner of her mouth at this sign of weakening from the boyking.

“Untouched by potion or enchantment?” Bog interrupted, jabbing a finger at the bottle that Roland was rolling around between his hands. The captain frowned and pulled the bottle closer.

Spruce frowned at this resistance but answered, “Of course.”

“And what of Adeline?” Marianne asked the question of Spruce, but she directed her gaze at Roland, “Will she be returned to Summer with her child? Both of them unharmed and unenchanted?”

“Marianne,” Roland drawled with a patient smile, “Darlin', still not seeing this little wrench for what she is. Coercing me into marriage, telling lies to drive you and me apart. You think her brat is _mine_? I was hardly her first . . . _admirer_.”

Tears were pouring down Adeline's face. She sagged in the hands of her captor, her golden hair falling out of its tidy bun and falling forward to veil her face.

“Roland,” Marianne's voice had gone soft, “Where is Gwill?”

“Gwill?” Roland asked, confused.

“Will. William.”

“ _Who_?”

“Your _son_!” Marianne shouted, taking a step forward and everyone on the dais taking an involuntary step back, “The one who is the exact picture of _you_! Where is he?”

“I don't know. She didn't have the brat with her.”

“You haven't harmed him?”

“Buttercup, I haven't even _seen_ it.”

“You're disgusting.”

“You'll realize otherwise soon enough.”

Bog pulled Marianne back and stepped in front of her, his teeth clamped together and eyes on the horrible little bottle that the Summer guard was toying with. He grabbed at the potion, rage clouding out everything else.

“Kill him!” Roland shouted, reeling backwards from the claws that snatched at him.

A dozen crossbows released their bolts, their target the Autumn King's heart. But the king had ducked to the side, keeping his wings tight against his back to present a smaller target. As he dodged he snatched the Summer Heir, turning his back to the crossbowmen so that she would be shielded. Marianne was not pleased by this arrangement, the hilt of her sword jarring against the king's armor and her teeth snapping together, narrowly missing biting into her tongue. Her arms and wings were fouled up and there was no way to break free without falling over in the process.

The bolts missed their target, but there were squeals from the crowd of goblins and roars of dismay.

“Don't!” Roland was shouting, “I need her alive!”

“Idiots!” Roderick's mother was raging, “We need him to hand over the amber!”

The goblins surged toward the throne, not even a command from their king could stop them. More bolts clicked into place in the crossbows.

“Let me _go_!” Marianne jammed her elbow into Bog's armored ribs, the impact jarring her bones and making her whole arm tingle, “Dawn! Sand! They'll all be killed!”

“Stand down! Stand down, you _fools_!” Bog was roaring, “You'll trample the wounded and hostages! Roderick, _don't_!”

Roderick had gotten loose and let himself be swept up in the movement of the frenzied hoard. When he was almost to the throne he pushed free of the crowd, brown-gray wings beating furiously as he aimed for the throne.

“Shield us! Shield us, your worthless sorcerer!” Spruce raged at Aura.

“Well, all you had to do was ask,” Aura huffed, “I'm not a mind-reader, you know.”

“Just do it!”

Glittering blue strands criss-crossed in the air, slicing in front of Roderick as he reached his hand out toward Adeline. Crossbow bolts snapped against the inside of the barrier that encased the conspirators and hostages on the dais. Goblins clawed at the outside, biting and tearing but unable to so much as mark the magic.

Stopped short by the sudden appearance of the shield, Roderick flapped back and hovered in place, his head moving sharply from side-to-side as he assessed the changes, his teeth bared and hand clenched, forcing back blind rage.

Then he slammed into the shield.

His claws sank into the magic, finding a hold where the other goblins could not. He slammed his metal arm into the shield and blue sparks flew into the air. He hit it again and wisps of blue light draped themselves over the metal workings of the prosthesis.

The third blow cracked the shield. The fourth splintered a hole large enough to allow Roderick to reach inside, his metal arm precariously hooked on the jagged edge of the hole while he snatched at Adeline.

“Give her back! Or I'll come in there and you'll all be sorry!”

“Get out!” One of Roderick's sisters sprang at him. She sliced her claws across his face and neck, but got her hand tangled in his ruff. Roderick wrapped his arm around her neck and pulled, clawing his feet on the outside of the shield, beating his wings so hard that the other goblins scrambled to get clear.

“Get out of my way!” Roderick ripped his sister through the hole and they both fell to the floor, clawing and kicking at each other.

“You're an embarrassment, Roderick!”

“You're in my way, Jerusha!”

Bog and Marianne wasted no time once Roderick and his sister were clear of the hole, rising above the seething mass of confusion, sword and staff raised and ready. Both of them barely veered away in time to avoid being hit by the volley of crossbow bolts fired through the gap.

“Enough!” Spruce called, “Boy, you have half an hour to decide whether you will step down with dignity or cling to your last drops of power like a greedy child. Half an hour, and we'll be back!”

Golden light glowed within the blue, tinting the room a sickly green.

“If you harm any of them I'll cut your throat myself, Roland!” Marianne hovered closer to the gap, trying to find a way in that wouldn't get her shot.

Roderick, meanwhile, slammed his fist into Jerusha's face. She fell onto the floor in a limp heap. He snatched something off the floor and flung it through the gap just before the lights vanished, taking with it everyone who had been within it.

The empty space left behind by their departure was overrun in moments and a cry of anger rose from the people of Autumn, deprived of a battle due to the tricky cowardice of the enemy.

“ _Everybody. Be. Quiet!”_

The Autumn King's voice rose over the rest of the noise and the room fell silent almost completely, the sudden wave of quiet allowing Thang to be briefly heard on the fringes of things, asking how the fairies and rebel goblins had disappeared, “Are they magic?”

Once Stuff hushed Thang the only sounds in the room was everyone gasping to catch their breath and Roderick scratching at the floor where Adeline had been standing.

The tip of Marianne's sword rested on the floor, the hilt held only loosely in her shaking hand. The silence was deafening. She could hear her own pounding heart. She could feel herself weighed down by the realization of her failure.

“Autumn King!” Marianne spun around, her sword scratching a line in the floor, “Open a door! A portal! Whatever you call it, use your amber and get me home _now_!”

“Summer Heir--”

“They have my brother and sister! If they get me too they'll have my kingdom by the throat! Get me to my father before they get to him!”

“My kingdom, too! And I can't take you back home, not by the amber door. The way out of Autumn is guarded and if we try and bypass them we'll be stopped. I think it's been in effect all night, since we returned from Summer.”

“Then I'll fly!”

“Summer Heir, please! I could take you to the border in a step, but there's an army between you and the palace, and what would you even do?”

“Kill Roland and save my father and sister!” She whirled around.

If the Autumn King had grabbed her she would have shaken him off, further enraged, but he didn't. Roland would have. Her father would have. The king flew forward and few wing beats to head her off and put out a hand so that the tips of his fingers brushed against her shoulder. The lightness of the touch made it startling and in spite of herself Marianne paused. She looked up at the Autumn King with the face she had been trying to hide. A face ugly with fear and anger, distorted by a grimace of pain too deep to be merely physical.

“Marianne,” He all but whispered, “Let me help. Let me just—just figure out how.”

“Addy!” Roderick's scratching at the floor had been steady and purposeful at first, but now turned into desperate scrabbling, scraping at the place where everyone had been arranged by the floor, the ring on his hand dripping with golden light, “Why isn't it working? Bog, you useless pile of sticks, _why isn't it working_?”

“They've breached the network, Roderick, we can't follow them. Calm down, we'll--”

“Calm down? He's got Addy! He'll kill her!”

“There's no reason to think he'll kill a hostage--”

“How do you think she ended up half-dead on our border in the first place? He needs her dead and he'll finish his handiwork the moment he has a chance!”

A laugh, thick and wet, bubbled up.

Roderick's sister, Jershua, lay on the floor with her face split open, coughing on blood as she laughed, “You really are gone on that fairy tramp, aren't you, Rod?”

“Wow, that is none of your business, Judy.”

“Fairy lover,” Jershua sat up enough to spit on the floor, “Betraying your family for the sake of a boy king and a fairy pet.”

“Fairy _friend_ ,” Roderick snapped, “I broke off with you lot because I didn't particularly feel like being a puppet king. As good as I'd look in a crown, it comes with too many strings attached.”

“Pathetic.”

“Says the captive,” Roderick sneered, crouched down next to her and pulling her up by her neck ruff, “Now, you know where they've taken Addy. Tell me.”

“You have half an hour,” Bog reminded him, “Don't kill her.”

“Bog,” Marianne began, about to renew her insistence on finding a way home.

“Stuff,” Bog said, “The council will want to discuss what to do next. Gather them all up in a meeting room and then lock them in.”

“Yes, sir, BK!” Stuff nodded.

“Autumn King!” Marianne growled.

“Get the wounded out of here and prepare for another attack!”

The Autumn King was walking briskly through the room, staff held close as he issued a series of orders to the goblins he passed. Marianne followed him out of the room and through the twisted maze of corridors. She was aware of the rooms shifting and moving as they passed through them, but she kept her eyes on Bog's back.

They walked into a vast kitchen crammed full of agitated goblins. Griselda popped out of the crowd, “Son! What's happened?”

“No time. Messengers are spreading the news. You're not hurt?”

“I got out with the little one before they came,” Griselda pointed at Gwill, who was sitting in the middle of a circle of chairs that formed a makeshift playpen for him and a handful of goblin children.

“Good. Tell Roderick that you have the boy. He's worried.”

“Will do. Wait, take something to eat, or at least a hot drink!” Mugs were thrust into their hands before they could answer yes or no, “Just give me a minute and I'll have--”

Griselda was cut off when Marianne followed the Autumn King out of the kitchen and the warmth of ovens disappeared, replaced by a long, empty hall.

Finally he opened a door and they walked into his study. He shut the door behind them, locking and bolting it before leaning his staff on it.

“Autumn King!”

His shoulders slumped and he leaned his forehead on the door, “I can't send you back, Summer Heir--”

“Then give me options! Give me something! Give me anything except waiting for them to come back and end it all! Roland will kill Adeline and enchant me! I don't even know if he'll let my brother and sister live, just so he can be sure there's not competition to for the throne of Summer!”

“There's little we can do but wait . . .”

“No! Never! I will not give up! I've fought this long, I'll fight until they put a blade through my heart!

“Summer Heir . . . please . . .”

“Shut up! All you ever do is give up! You gave up on the alliance, you gave up on our friendship! You walked away and left me in the dark with nothing but nightmares!'

Marianne spoke to wound, the words deliberately cruel. Because she was frightened and she was so full of hate she burned with it.

She hated her weakness. Her failure. She hated him.

The Autumn King and the Summer Captain and how they turned her life topsy-turvy at every turn. Green eyes. Blue eyes. Which had hurt her more? But those blue eyes begged her forgiveness, averted themselves when he shifted himself, afraid to hurt her again. One night. It had only been one night since she counted him an enemy. Her thoughts, her subconscious, were not keeping up with developments. This was the . . . creature? Boy? Man? Who had threatened her family, invaded their kingdom. Yes, her more recent thoughts chided, what has your kingdom done to him? This broken boyking trying to hold the whole world together all on his own. Just like a certain Summer princess. And how vastly eager they had been to find someone who understood. One night. One night and they were friends again. In the back of her heart she still hated him, but the him she hated was a shadow, cast to loom large across her thoughts in terrifying uncertainty and unreality. Right here and now she was looking at the real one and she did not hate him. Blue eyes, gray face, crown of leaves. His huge, deadly taloned hands held uncertainly in front of his chest since the brief moment he dared touch her.

She didn't hate him.

She hated the divide, the failure, the devlish work that Roland had wrought.

“Two years. Two years I've been running from the wrong monster. All this time I saw you in every shadow, heard you in every creak of the floor and crack of the settling walls, knowing you could be anywhere and any time and there was no escaping you. Roland I despised but I could deal with him. He was an idiot with the limitations of any other. Now he has the amber and he's used it to take my kingdom. I couldn't even see . . . now everything is falling apart because I couldn't see past that preening nit. Everything, I'm sorry, Bog, I'm sorry.”

“Would you _stop_?” The king exploded, the king threw his hands up to implore the help of the ceiling in dealing with princesses, “Do you do this to throw me off? Everything that _I've_ done and _you_ keep apologizing!” He leaned down, his incredulous face on level with hers, huge hands held up, hovering in the air to bridge the gap between their faces. “If you do it one more time I will _scream_.”

“Oh, pardon me, I forgot that dramatics are _your_ business. Sorry to step on your toes.”

Bog widened his eyes, mouth drawing down and head tilting, but posture and hands staying emphatically in place. She had said it again. He opened his mouth. She smacked her hand over it. “Don't! I'm sorry! Oh! Again!”

He caught her hand and pulled it away. “Why do you take personal responsibility for your entire kingdom?”

“I'm the heir. It's my job.”

“It _will_ be your job. Your father is still king, the duty of ruling hasn't yet fallen entirely to you.”

“These past few years I've gotten used to dealing with things alone.”

“Things?” Bog asked, thinking of how the Summer Heir had not spoken a word to anyone of Autumn's secrets. She had locked it all away to guarantee that the conflict ended that night in the garden, thorns weaving between them and their kingdoms.

“Things,” Marianne sighed, dropping into a chair, her hand sliding out of Bog's as she collapsed. He let it slip away even though something urged him to retain it, clasp it more tightly.

“My fault.”

“Roland's fault,” Marianne corrected, “We straightened that point out, remember?”

Hadn't they?

The truth was that Marianne still did not trust the Autumn King.

The truth was that the Autumn King still did not trust the Summer Heir.

But they both wanted to. A single dance and a year's worth of letters had forged a fragile bridge of friendship between them, linking their two worlds with a chain of paper and ink. To both of them that year had been so very important. They had been happy then, the world simple and straightforward. Things had not always been easy but neither of them had ever feared hard work and they looked forward to the projects that would draw their kingdoms out of uneasy peace and into true friendship.

Betrayal had severed the chain of papers, scattering the delicate moments of happiness to the wind and flames. New chains of fire and thorns wove around them, not linking but blocking, binding themselves further into their own kingdoms and further away from each other. He wrapped himself in wreathes of thorns to keep the world from harming him. She donned the red flames so she could burn the world that burned her. Like fire she ate away at the obstacles set before her, the resistance only fueling her, making her stronger. He hid behind his thorns in the darkness, striking back when struck, trying to maintain a delicate balance of isolation from his neighbors.

He had been hurt, so he struck back, stepping out from behind his thorns in order that he might weave them a little tighter. But she brought fire into his realm and she burned away the thorns, making him vulnerable. And what scared him was that he almost invited the trespass, welcomed this intruder that tore away blackened branches from his self-imposed prison. While she welcomed someone who did not ignore her flames, did not flinch away from her passion. He saw the power, the danger, the resolve in her and he respected them, maybe even feared them a bit. But he did not disregard her, tell her what role she should play, who she should be, how she should act.

He had kidnapped her, threatened her family and her people. Now two of her siblings were captive, one under a spell. She said she believed him, that he had not intended this, but some wary part of her refused to believe. The part that told her she had been made a fool of before and it could easily happen again. That foolish part that reminded her of her love for Roland, her dreams for their life together. And that part watched, gathering evidence against the Autumn King while on the outside she smiled.

Peering from behind the smoking skeleton of his fortress he did not trust her either. Friendship was not something he had experienced much of. The friendships of childhood, passing things that fade away with age. Then for one year he knew the Summer Heir. The unpredictable Summer Heir who wanted to see Autumn, to walk among the trees and see the dragonflies dance in their own land. But a false love had clouded his mind and he could no longer trust his own thoughts, never sure what had been real and what was a pink-tinged illusion. So he looked at the Summer Heir, who looked into his eyes without fear even after he had marked her, and he wanted to trust her. To trust anyone. Words slipped out of him unbidden and he told her more than he needed to. A small part of him screamed that this had happened before. That friendship had been pretended to trick and manipulate him, that it was happening all again now. But he wanted to trust her. Had he trusted anyone since he took the throne? Not even his mother shared his complete confidence.

The Summer Heir had been the only one he had trusted after gaining the crown. The betrayal had been worse than the dispelling of the pink illusions. Letters, laughing, joking letters and shared confidences. Schemes for diplomatic functions. Looking forward to seeing each other at the Summer Ball again. Now they had seen each other at the ball, but not as they had once anticipated they might. They had danced, with sword and staff, their footwork confidant in a way their dancing would never be. But she was the heir of Summer, the daughter of the land that was slaughtering his people. Even if she knew nothing was she still not responsible? Was her intervention at the ball a ruse to infiltrate Autumn and learn their secrets? There she was, going through his notes, studying his maps . . . was it simple curiosity or was it something darker?

The Autumn King hid his face in his hand so that he didn't have to look at the Summer Heir. Perhaps she bent in her chair so she did not have to look at the king, her thoughts in a whirl. Why was it so important that they trust each other? Why did it matter so much? Why did it hurt so much not to trust each other? Why did they have to work so hard not to automatically trust in the other? Because they had trusted once and the breaking of that trust had been devastating. They did not want to risk that pain again, for the worth did not outweigh the sorrow.

“There can't be any space.” Marianne said, more to the wall than Bog.

“If we track them . . .” Bog said, dragging himself back to the matter at hand, picking up the mug his mother had given him, the contents already growing tepid, “We might be able to track them. If Jerusha talks . . .”

“I'm going to have to let him dust me.”

“No!” The mug in Bog's hand shattered, contents exploding across the desk, “That is not an option. Not for anyone. Especially not for you!” He bit his lips closed but released them again to quickly say, “That's handing him all the power _and_ a warrior who will fight to the death for him. We can't risk it.”

“What if the potion didn't work?”

“What do you mean? I don't have anything to protect you.” Marianne was slumped in a chair, her wings hanging over the arms on either side of her. Bog knelt down in front of it, still far too tall, catching her eye, “Marianne, I told you, I can't protect you. For all they call me a sorcerer I have no more than a handful of tricks.”

He held up his hands, displaying empty palms. “I have nothing.”

“Nothing . . .” Marianne said, eyes heavy with exhaustion, looking at the hands offered to her. “Nothing. What if . . . what if there's no space for him to fill?” She took the hands in front of her, pushing the fingers until they curled inward and formed fists.

“I don't . . . don't understand.” He had almost jumped away when she took his hands. Large clawed fingers trembled under her touch, wanting to pull away before he accidentally damaged something. But he didn't want to pull away. Marianne's gaze kept him in place, her steady amber gaze. She sighed and closed her eyes, leaning forward in her chair and resting her forehead against his.

His heart was racing. He was happy. He was afraid. Soft hair brushed gently against his his crown of leaves, warm breath tickled his face. Bog closed his eyes, afraid to look too long in case he woke up and found it had all been a dream. Teeth bared in a grimace and his breathing was unsteady. No, no, no. He couldn't be this close, not to her. He hurt things, he broke things. Already he had hurt her. He didn't want to break her! Something horribly like a sob was building at the back of his throat, otherwise he would have said something. Told her to stop, to go away, protect herself.

“What if there's no space?”

“I-I don't--”

“What if the space is filled?”

Their fingers were tangled up together and it was impossible to tell whose pulse it was that pounded hard enough to make them both shake.

“You can't.” The words came out thin, tiny, and miserable. “After all I've done.”

“It's all so mixed up.” Marianne sighed, rolling her forehead against his when she shook her head. “I wanted time to sort it all out, but we're out of time. Our only play is to cheat the potion.”

“You don't know that will work.” His voice was still so far away, “It's potent.”

“But I'll be prepared. I just . . . I need to say it. I need _you_ to say it. I need it to be real, too real to deny. I'm so mixed up, tangled up with monsters in the shadows and letters from a friend. Sword fighting in a throne room--” Bog gave a weak chuckle, smile looking closer to the beginning of a sob, “--screaming at goblins, being kind to my sister and brother . . . threatening my father, dueling with pencils . . .”

“You can't, you _can't_.”

“Oh, Bog, the things this world has done to you. And I'm just going to make it worse, but it's the only thing to do. Either it will protect me, or . . . or at least I'll have told you.”

“Please, don't.” His eyes are shut tight, his teeth gritted to bite back tears. He'll hurt her. He'll hurt her. Please, don't get closer. Please don't go. Please, please, please.

“Please,” She says, “Do this one thing for me. Please. And if I'm wrong, tell me now.”

“You're not. You're not wrong.”

“Then please.”

“I-I . . . I've never been able to figure out why the potion just wore off . . . Real things. Real things break the illusion,” The memory of her engagement announcement falling out of the envelope played across his mind, more vivid in his recollection than the face of the false love he had been ensnared by, “You are . . . you are the realest thing in my entire life.”

Marianne exhaled a shaky breath and one of her hands was worked loose from his and slid around his neck, pressing against the back of his head. He submitted to the pressure, his face coming to rest in the curve of her neck, smelling the dust and sweat of the long night on her skin, the the underlying smell of roses beneath.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I love you, Mari.”

He was curved over her, murmuring into her shoulder, trying not to let tears leak from his eyes. He had been forced to face the truth and it hurt. It hurt knowing. Denial and ignorance had kept him safe. To hate her was easier than loving her. Loving her meant only pain. He was of Autumn, she of Summer, worlds apart in every way.

She was crushing him in a hug and he dared to return the gesture, tentatively putting an arm around her shoulders. The action tore something loose inside him and he held her close and tight, fingers working into her bare shoulder, feeling how impossibly soft she was, how tight her muscles were strained.

“I love you, Bog.” The words were whispered beneath his ear, as if she were afraid to let him hear it.

“I'm sorry,” he said, “I'm sorry.”

“Bog,” She said, not even trying to disguise how emotion was making her voice shake, “If you say that one more time I'll scream.”

A weak little chuckle was pulled out of Bog, but on the tail-end of it came a gasping sob. He tried to pull away but Marianne only tightened her embrace.

“We don't have time for this,” Bog said, surrendering and letting his head rest on her shoulder, but trying to blink away the tears threatening to spill from his eyes, “We have to--”

“We have at least five minutes before someone comes to get us. I think we're both allowed five minutes, just this once.”

“Just this once,” Bog agreed.

And they both knew that it really was only this one moment. That when the sun rose it would not matter because they would either have failed, or separated once more into their respective kingdoms, and while the ending Summer might meet the beginning fall they would never exist together.

Five minutes.

Then they would plan.

* * *

Marianne lowered herself to her knees at the bottom of the dais, the Autumn King's staff held in her hands. Stiff with bruises and exhaustion, her eyes gritty, she still held herself with the poise and dignity that were expected of the Summer Heir.

“We concede to your terms,” She said, laying the staff down on the bottom step. She drew her sword and laid that next to the staff. Both weapons relinquished, she should have bent her head in submission. Instead, she kept her back straight and her steady gaze on the group assembled above her.

The look of satisfaction on Roland's face made her want to pick her sword back up and slice the smug grin off his face. He looked like a man pleased to be finally given his due. He had the air of a man casting his eye over his purchase before the merchant wrapped it up. He stepped down and held out a hand to her. It was all Marianne could do not to spit on it. She took his hand and allowed herself to be led up the steps and positioned to the side of the throne.

She managed to catch Adeline's eye. “Griselda has Gwill.” Adeline sagged in relief. The medical bag Roderick had thrown to her was slung over her shoulder.

“Now,” Roland said, “I believe you promised to help me with that minor difficulty, Spruce?”

“Yes, yes,” Spruce was retrieving the staff, reaching for it with the care of one who fears they might be about to grasp a hot coal or vicious serpent. She spared a glance back at her second daughter, “Take care of it.”

She drew a dagger from her belt and Adeline looked up, eyes wide with horror as she saw what was coming. Her shoulders shook as she tried to choke in some air, uttering something too choked to be comprehensible. She coughed and tried again:

“N-not . . . Winter.”

Marianne looked over, seeing the knife and reaching out to stop it.

“It's not Winter,” Adeline's voice rose, “It's not Winter! _It's not Winter_!”

She was screaming now, kicking and struggling to get away from the knife.

“ _They're working with Spring! Winter sides with Autumn!”_

A cheer roared through the room, bouncing off the walls and ceiling, pounding down onto the group by the throne. Marianne's heart gave a violent jerk of uncertain hope. The magic and power of Winter was on their side, not Roland and Spruce's.

Bog's head whipped up and he rose from where he had been kneeling at the edge of the crowd. His head had been bent and his eyes fastened to the floor, teeth clenched so tight as to crack. Every instinct had railed at him to stop Marianne from walking willingly to her doom. But if Winter stood with them, if they could be reached, implored to come to their aid . . . this battle could be won.

Spruce's fingers curled around the staff.

Roland pulled the love potion from his belt, watching the goblin's knife with a faint smile of satisfaction on his face.

Adeline kept screaming, kept repeating the same words, until the knife reached her and red began to pour down her throat.

Roderick screamed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO IT IS I
> 
> CHANGING OF THE SEASONS IS BACK
> 
> PLEASE IGNORE THE LINGERING TRACES OF DEPRESSION CLINGING TO MY PERSON AND ENJOY THIS LONG LONG LONG DELAYED UPDATE I AM SORRY I HAVE BEEN GONE
> 
> Thank you all for the comments and reviews you have left on my story! I have read them all with delight, you are all marvelous.
> 
> This chapter has not been properly beta'd so I apologize in advance for the poor quality, thank you and good night.
> 
> Feedback gives me life and validates my existence

**Author's Note:**

> This story was mainly written before I had ever seen Strange Magic, inspired by the handful of clips I had seen. So chalk up the most drastic changes to that, and that I planned to make this original work before I caved and admitted it was fanfiction.
> 
> This is the first fanfiction I have ever written!
> 
> Some important differences: the story takes place over several years and when Bog and Marianne first meet she is 18 and he is 15 and they do not fall in love until later on but in the meantime there is some great friendship action. Marianne has two sisters: Dawn and Iona, and a brother: Lysander.
> 
> Comments, questions, and criticisms welcomed!


End file.
